Season of Black Chrysanthemums
by Corbeaun
Summary: When Shindo Hikaru was fourteen years old, Touya disappeared from the go world. And then his life fell apart. Yakuza AU
1. Winter

**Title**: Season of Black Chrysanthemums: Winter  
**Author**: corbeaun  
**Fandom**: Hikaru no Go  
**Disclaimer**: _Hikaru no Go_ belongs to Obata Takeshi and Hotta Yumi.

**Summary**: When Shindo Hikaru was fourteen years old, Touya disappeared from the go world. And then his life fell apart. Years later, he finds Touya again, but going back to the world of professional go may just prove impossible...for more than one reason. _Yakuza AU_

A/N: Written for Round 4 of blindgo on Livejournal.

* * *

**Winter **

**Part 1**

_six years before..._

Akira learned his love for the game from his father, who had made a ritual of sitting in front of the goban every morning, a steaming teacup by his side and the view of the Tokyo skyline glittering before him. His underlings had long ago learned to not disturb Touya Kouyo during this time of silent contemplation, where only the soft _pachi_ of stones upon kaya wood interrupted the morning stillness.

Now, in his father's absence, Akira sat in Touya Kouyo's place before the goban. The shoji paper door leading into the back garden had been pushed aside, flooding the study room with the bright, cold light of morning. All over the house, white drapery now covered the walls – only the study room was left undisturbed. Dressed in his new black kimono, the stiff cloth chaffed at Akira's still tender shoulder where the colors had been newly tattooed. He did not place any stones on the board, and only turned a smooth, crisp stone over and over in his fingers, lost in thought.

Somewhere in the distance, a brass bell sounded and the priest's chanting began.

When Akira was much younger, and a schoolmate had asked what his father did for a living, he had replied earnestly that his father played go. To him, that was the truth. His father's dedication for the game was obvious for anyone to see, and Akira emulated his father wherever he could. Though he knew his father did not play professionally, he had simply thought that there was another kind of job for go lovers separate from the jobs of the go pros who his father often called over for a game. The go pros were inevitably escorted into his father's study room by a man from the numerous 'guards' stationed at their house. As a boy, Akira never even thought unusual the group of dark-suited young men with the occasional pompadour who trailed his father like personal shadows and replied to every comment of his father's with a clear, punctuated, "Hai!" To Akira, the men were either roughly indulgent or indifferent. He assumed the presence of these 'bodyguards' were the normal state of affairs in a large household.

Go was the only task he ever saw his father occupied with at the sprawling mansion within the genteel Meijiro neighborhood that Touya Kouyo had shared with him and his mother. This was deliberate. Only later would a much older Akira realize to what lengths his father had gone to ensure his young son never saw him involved in any overtly questionable dealings. The occasional older men in custom-fitted Italian suits and heavy Rolexes who visited his father, and drank sake behind closed doors, brought with them their own flock of tense, suited young guards.

Akira knew neither his paternal or maternal grandparents – his paternal grandparents being long dead; his maternal grandparents long estranged. Touya Kouyo's wife and Akira's mother was an intelligent, sophisticated woman who was born to a social class that did not readily lend itself to intermarriage with the criminal outcasts of the country. She was the prized daughter of a doctor educated at Todai, the Japanese equivalent of Harvard. Her parents had been devastated when she dropped out of college and abruptly married a then middling-level Yakuza boss; to add insult to injury, she gave birth to Akira only six months after the wedding. Her parents never forgave her.

But growing up, Akira did not know his family's history; he was ensconced safely within the protection of Touya Kouyo, _oyabun _of a rapidly growing faction within the Sumiyoshi crime family in dazzling, metropolitan Tokyo.

And until the day that protection had been suddenly shattered, Touya Akira had fervently believed he would walk the path that would lead him to the hand of god, exactly like his respected father.

Now, in the broken aftermath of that old, happy life, Akira gently stowed the go stone in its wooden pot. The chanting of the priest was growing louder in the distance, and now it was responded to by the wailing monotone of the mourners. Slowly, Akira straightened from his kneeling position before the goban. Straightening the wide sleeves of his kimono, he slid open the shoji door and stepped out of his father's former study room.

The time for contemplation was over.

He was his father's only son, and – despite his tender years – he knew what he must do.

* * *

_...the present_

Hikaru cycled away from the main road and onto one of the many winding side streets that twisted through the famous old geisha district of Kagurazuka. The streets become narrower and narrower the further he went away from the main road, the worn wooden walls of old houses crowding in on him. Rain-slick stones passed beneath the tires of his bicycle, and occasionally the raised root of a tree broke through the cobbled ground. These closely packed houses blocked out the moon and the bright over-wash of light from the more industrial part of Tokyo. Only the pale pink glow filtered through the square paper sides of the red lanterns that hung along the eaves of the houses illuminated his path.

Cycling through these streets that had survived the bonfires of Allied bombing, Hikaru felt an almost superstitious silence fall over him. He almost expected, as if at any moment, he would catch a glimpse of white robes and long familiar black hair. Only the ordinary aroma of ramen wafting from the boxes tied securely behind his seat kept him in the now and then. Still, Hikaru felt an irrational sense of anticipation, as if something was going to happen that evening. What, he had no idea, but he hoped it was something good.

His world, since the days of his boyhood, had grown increasingly small and narrow over the years.

Finally he saw approaching up ahead an old, traditional wooden building with windows shuttered in bamboo. A tiny, kimono-clad woman came out of the _ryotei_ to greet him. She looked askance at Hikaru's shoddy work wear, but smiled politely and, after he had removed his shoes in the foyer, ushered him to the small, traditional kitchen in the back. He quickly unpacked the boxes of ramen. Due to two hard years of practice, not a drop of soup had been spilled on the long uneven path he'd biked and the bowls were still steaming hot. The cook of the establishment and his few assistants greedily grabbed the bowls from him and proceeded to slurp down the noodles with relish. Hikaru waited beside the kitchen door for the woman who had greeted him to finish tallying up the bill. Light laughter drifted down the corridor from the main part of the house where the guests were dining. Hikaru hoped they enjoyed their high-priced food just as much as the cook and his assistants had the much cheaper ramen.

When the woman finally handed him the money for the noodles, Hikaru bowed his thanks and quickly took his leave. Outside, he righted his bicycle, now much lighter without its culinary burden, and slung a leg over the seat, ready to take off, when suddenly the tilt of a familiar, long-unseen head down the street thumped his heart into his throat.

"Touya," he breathed.

The figure was rapidly walking away from him, accompanied by a throng of suited men. The light from the geisha teahouse they'd just exited from illuminated without a doubt the face of his one-time rival. He still sported that same, pageboy cut. "Touya!" Hikaru shouted, heedlessly abandoning his bicycle to the ground.

In the distance, the figure stopped. The men around him tensed, until he leaned over to the one beside him and said something. With what seemed like great reluctance, the suits around Touya bowed perfunctorily and continued down the street without him. The dark, winding nature of old-fashioned Kagurazuka soon hid the men from sight. Only then did Touya turn around to face him.

The light from the late autumn moon showed Hikaru a face he'd never thought he would again see.

Hikaru run up to him until he was standing only a few feet away. He felt his face split in a large, uncontrollable grin. "It really is you!" He grabbed him by the shoulder, unthinkingly, wanting to make sure the other man was real. His shoulder was warm and reassuringly solid. Until then, Hikaru had still been deathly afraid he was wrong.

When Touya didn't reply, his smile faltered. "Don't you – don't you know me?" he asked haltingly, feeling disappoint beginning to roil his stomach. His hand dropped from Touya's shoulder. Hikaru stopped himself in time from reaching self-consciously to his no longer bleached bangs. It was nervous gesture he had developed in the past two years. The upkeep of the bleached bangs had proven too expensive, both money and time-wise, when he'd moved out on his own. Sometimes, he barely recognized himself in the mirror. Now, Hikaru wished he'd found some way to keep it, just so Touya would have known him without a doubt.

But then Touya spoke:

"Shindo. Shindo Hikaru."

His voice, sure and steady, was an octave lower than Hikaru remembered it being. They had been boys the last time they met.

"Right." Hikaru stared at Touya, finally fully taking in his gray, tailored slacks and his elegant cashmere overcoat. The years had been generous to him in a way it had not been for Hikaru. "How've you been, Touya?"

"All right. And you –" The other man hesitated. "The Go Institute must be feeling expansive."

"What?" Hikaru couldn't follow the sudden topic shift. What did the Japanese Go Institute have anything, anymore, to do with him? He had retired from his position as a professional go player _years_ ago. Hikaru shook his head mentally, dismissing it: It was unimportant. There was only one thing he desperately wanted to know, a question that had plagued him for the past six years.

"Touya," he said, "what happened to you? That day, in the dan matches, you were finally supposed to play me –"

The sudden grip on his arm stopped him mid-word. "Not here." Though the streets were clearly empty, Touya glanced around tightly, and pulled Hikaru with him to the lit entrance of an old, teak and bamboo house further down the street. An old woman in a gray kimono came out and bowed to them.

Touya dropped Hikaru's arm and turned to him. "Are you here with anyone?" he asked quietly.

His question was unbelievably strange. Hikaru had to bike back to the ramen shop soon. Did Hikaru look like he could afford to visit Kagurazuka as a revered customer? "What? No –"

Touya's short nod cut off the sarcastic comment Hikaru had been about to voice.

"Good," Touya said curtly. "We can talk here." And walked into the house behind the old woman before Hikaru could even blink.

For a moment Hikaru hesitated. He knew he was already late and needed to hurry back to the shop. But he was afraid he'd never see Touya again if he left now. And that, he could not accept. This is important, Hikaru told himself firmly, he'll take the docked pay if he had to. Thus decided, Hikaru slipped off his shoes and followed.

The old woman ushered them into a small, private tatami-matted room with a view of an indoor rock garden. The room was otherwise empty. At a word from Touya, she bowed and left them, quietly sliding the shoji door shut behind her. Touya sat down on the floor. He waited until her shadow had retreated from the paper wall.

"We're ensured of privacy here," he told Hikaru.

"What is with all the cloak-and-dagger stuff? Touya," Hikaru looked at him warily from his seat across the tatami, "what did you get mixed up in? Does this –" He paused, then continued, "Does this have anything to do with why you disappeared that April?"

Touya laughed abruptly at that, a low, bitter sound that startled Hikaru. Hikura reached out across the mat, but then thought better of it. The aborted gesture was not lost on Touya. He cut off his laughter.

The sudden silence unnerved Hikaru just as much.

"My father is _dead_, Shindo." His voice was hoarse with unspoken emotion. "He died and I inherited the family business."

And saying that, he put a hand to his shoulder – the same one Hikaru had grabbed – and pulled down coat and shirt to expose his bare skin. Incised across his left bicep was the elaborate tattoo of burnt orange chrysanthemums – chrysanthemums for mourning and vengeance. Their entwined stems trailed along his upper arms and the feathered crest of a dragon there, before disappearing below his collarbone. Below the flowers and the winding, serpentine body, with a quarter of his torso laid bare, one could see easily the outlines of what was a spectacular full-body tattoo.

It was the ubiquitous emblem of the yakuza.

Hikaru felt his eyes widen in disbelief. When he looked back at Touya's face, Touya had drawn his lips back from his teeth in a cold, brittle smile. His voice, when he spoke, was just as cold:

"My father and mother were gunned down in a go parlor by a punk from a renegade faction. Six years ago, in April."

The news shocked Hikaru to stillness.

His memories recalled a large, stern rock of a man. He had bumped into him the day Hikaru took Sai to that first go tournament. Hikaru remembered how the suited men around the large, stern man had snarled at him to watch where he was going. The man himself had barely acknowledged him. At the time, Sai had blinked and stared strangely after the man as he and his bodyguards disappeared down the corridor. But when Hikaru had asked, the ghost had only shivered and said he felt like someone had walked over his grave.

Later, Hikaru had learned from news gleaned in less reputable go parlors that the man was Touya Kouyo, _oyabun_ of one of the most rapidly rising factions within the Sumiyoshi of the Tokyo yakuza, and a dedicated go aficionado. Back then, Hikaru hadn't made the connection from him to Touya Akira, a rapidly rising star within the go world and rival after whom Hikaru so single-mindedly chased. The name Touya, after all, while not as common as Tanaka, was certainly not unique.

Now, the son was still speaking.

"The squabbling began over who would get what. The _oyabun_ of the other factions in the organization – they were like dogs, fighting each other for scraps from my parents' corpses. The police," and a disgusted look crossed Touya's face, "refused to get involved – they feared a disruption in the status quo.

"So you see, Shindo, why I had to give up being a go pro." Touya looked down and spread out his hands on the tatami mat before him. "I had no other choice."

Hikaru's reply was obviously unexpected.

"Bullshit!"

Akira blinked and looked up.

Hikaru knew his face was still pale at the revelation, but he felt a familiar fire burning in him. All those years of wondering, all those years of bitter resignation at never finding an answer... Touya had loved go – even more than him, and he had just thrown it away for something that, apparently, he did not even want and only felt obligated for.

It made him careless and unafraid to say what he thought. "Bullshit," he said again, emphasizing his conviction. "What is this, the freaking Tokugawa era?" He jabbed an angry finger at the other man. "You are not living during feudalism, Touya! If this were a go game, Touya Akira, you would have resigned six hands ago. Admit it! You had a choice, and you chose – stupidly."

Touya glared, his spine tensing in response. "My father and mother –"

"Yeah, they were murdered. So now you're throwing _your_ life away in order to – what? Find out the name of the punk that killed them. And then what, kill _him_? Gun him down. Make _him_ hurt the way you hurt –"

"_Zakennayo_!" Touya growled, his hand slamming down on the mat. "Don't fuck with me! You don't know –"

Hikaru ignored him, and snorted in disgust. "Oh, and afterwards, you're gonna commit _seppuku_, right? Just stick a sword in your belly, join them in an honorable afterlife –"

He heard himself let loose a surprised grunt as he was slammed back onto the tatami mat. Touya glared down murderously at him. For a moment Hikaru was visibly stunned, so much so that it almost seemed to shake the other man out of his anger. But then he growled, a low vicious sound, and lunged at Touya. His strong left hook caught the other man on the jaw. A shuffle of limbs on the floor, explosions of pain, and he ducked and grabbed Touya by the arm just as he swung, momentum helping him throw Touya over his shoulder and onto the tatami mat. But Touya kicked viciously at his shins as he landed, bringing Hikaru down with him. The impact knocked the breath out of him.

When the sparks finally faded from his sight, he found himself immobile on the floor with Touya's arm braced against his neck. In the sudden silence, he could hear his own heavy breathing as he labored for air. His jaw ached, the skin of his knuckles stung. Touya was also breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling, warm and solid against him. Not admitting defeat, Hikaru stared up defiantly into the other man's eyes.

"It won't be so easy to give up your life. To give up _go_."

At his words, Touya's hold on him had loosened in surprise. But he didn't let Hikaru up from the floor. Hands braced at both sides of him, Touya stared down at Hikaru, an unreadable intensity in his eyes. His face looked drawn and taut against some unnamed pressure. For the first time, Hikaru noticed how different Touya looked. Neither of them were round-cheeked boys anymore, but the sheared planes of Touya's face now had a lean, hungry look that had not previously existed.

Carefully, Hikaru's hands rose and closed firmly around Touya's shoulders. In his hold, the other man was warm but unyielding. But Hikaru felt the strength of his own conviction, heady and undeniable. "I won't let you give it up." The shadows of the last few years slinked away in the brilliance of that surety. He blinked, feeling light and breathless. "I won't," he repeated, steadier than he'd been in years.

"It's been a long time, Shindo," Touya objected in a low voice. "As you said, I made my choice. Priorities change. _People_ change."

"No, not you. I _know_ you. Go is your life."

Touya only stared down at him, his eyes agonizingly dark. "It's not that simple," he whispered.

Hikaru felt himself burn. He yanked the other man's head down to his, pressed his forehead tight against Touya's. "Shut up," he whispered fiercely. His hands cupped the back of Touya's head, not letting him escape. "Play that game against me," he demanded feverishly. "That game we never got to play. I'll show you."

This close, Hikaru couldn't see Touya's expression, but he felt the tension – the preparation of a violent refusal – gathering in the body against him. He lowered his hands from the back of Touya's head, and let Touya see his face.

And though Hikaru hadn't touched a go stone in years, when Touya closed his eyes and relaxed against him in assent, Hikaru knew he had already won.

* * *

**Part 2**

When Hikaru was fourteen years old, Touya Akira disappeared from the go world. He left no trace, disappeared so completely, that when a similar event happened later than same year to another seemingly eternal figure in Hikaru's life, Hikaru could only stare in stupefied grief at the demolished skyline of his personal landscape.

He was only a boy then, and before, he had never truly understood loss. But that year, everything fell apart. His life cracked straight down the center through two distinct fault lines. For untold weeks he walked through the incomprehensively empty world, alternately dazed and bewildered, then angry and resentful – promising and threatening all kinds of things to the gods, if only they would turn his world right side up again.

The fateful afternoon in which he found Isumi in his room – and the brutally short game that they played – finally forced him to a bitter realization.

Sai was never coming back.

And Touya Akira, the one who he had chased so desperately and who had in turn chased after the ghost in Hikaru's go, was gone.

These two relentless forces that had dragged Hikaru into the world of go had, against all reason, vanished. And now he floundered in the wake of their abandonment.

His game against Isumi was a slaughter.

When he bowed his resignation to Isumi at the very end, his bitter tears splattered on the dusty board of the goban. Because he could still see the flashes of brilliance that had so typified Sai's play within his own – it was the first time he'd seen Sai again – but there was something monstrously lacking in his own go, some absence so insurmountable that it had destroyed the glittering beauty of the hands he'd inherited from Sai. His go, Hikaru realized, felt dead.

That very next morning, he went to the Go Institute and tendered his resignation as a professional go player.

Despite the reservations of his homeroom teacher, Hikaru managed to score high enough on the high school entrance test that he was accepted at a place not too far from where he lived. He took up soccer again, but playing in high school was very different from his time during grade school, and eventually the coach's unrelenting and – according to Hikaru – utterly pointless goading to _win, win, win!_ leached away Hikaru's desire to play, so that one day he simply quit the team. If nothing else, quitting improved his grades.

His school also had a rather respectably sized go club. He tried not to go too often, though, because dead as his go was at a professional level, he was still good enough that he sporadically scared beginners out of playing the game. Teaching others to play was a new skill that he had to learn to enjoy.

Occasionally, he still spoke to Akari, but since she had been accepted to a much more competitive high school, they did not see each other as often. Which was fine by Hikaru, because lately, Akari had taken to looking at him with a pitying look in her eyes. She tried too hard to pretend everything was the same. But the silence in between her words to him was awkward and weighted down with all the questions he would not answer.

And so the years passed in this way, quiet and undisturbed.

By the time it came to choose a university, Hikaru had made the difficult but honest choice of not applying. It broke his mother's heart, but Hikaru knew with certainty that university and then the life of a salaryman was not for him. It bothered him, though, that he didn't know what else to do – the one path he truly wanted, he could not walk.

He looked to graduation with some trepidation.

In the past three years on his way back from high school, Hikaru often bypassed a small ramen shop. Through many visits over time, Hikaru and the owner had gotten to know each other quite well. Jun, the owner of the shop, was an ethnic Korean, and though she had been born in Japan same as Hikaru's mother, her identity card still designated her as a residential alien. After years of work hard, her restaurant business was finally booming, but that brought problems of its own. She needed someone with a legitimate citizenship card to smooth things over with the local police and the occasional ultra-right 'protection' racket gangs. And Hikaru needed a job.

One day, not long before graduation, Hikaru sat down at the counter with her and discussed both their problems. They found a solution in each other. And so without much fanfare, Shindo Hikaru became the newest all-purpose worker and sometime representative of a Chinese ramen restaurant.

He learned to be content in this new life.

And if he sometimes stared overly long at the dusty, untouched goban stored next to his old magazines and thought of old games long into the night, well, there was no one to know but himself.

Until the night Hikaru went to a _ryotei _in Kagurazuka to deliver ramen, and saw Touya Akira.

* * *

"You found a new girlfriend, Shindo?" 

Hikaru broke off his whistling in surprise. "W-what?" he stuttered.

The other dishwasher, Jun's son on break from university, raised a sly eyebrow and grinned. "I said, I hear you've been in an awfully good mood these past two months. Any reason?"

Hikaru looked blankly at the other man. Then he stared down at his soapy hands holding a dirty soup bowl. Slowly, he dunked the dirty bowl back into the dishwater. "There was a...co-worker from my last job that I didn't expect I'd see again. We've been catching up."

He and Touya had been meeting once a week at that old house in Kagurazuka to play go in the evenings. The aged proprietor of that modest _ryotei_ kept a goban ready for them whenever they appeared. Hikaru was also eating better than he had in years.

"Is she pretty?"

Broken out of his musings, Hikaru only rolled his eyes. Jun's son was a notorious womanizer. "Yeah, _he_'s as pretty as a girl. That hasn't changed."

"Oh." The other man looked disproportionately disappointed.

Hikaru had to laugh at that, and slapped the other man on the back, leaving a soapy imprint on his shirt. "Jeez, don't worry. You'll find a girlfriend, eventually, without having to bother me for an introduction."

Akari always visited Hikaru's ramen workplace whenever she came visiting home from university. On one of those visits, she had had the misfortune of bumping into Jun's son, who had immediately fallen head-over-heels in infatuation with her. The feeling was not mutual. It had gotten to the point where Akari had started to call Hikaru ahead of her visits, just to make sure the other man wouldn't be there when she was.

"I wouldn't have to find a new girlfriend," Jun's son needled, "if you would just help me convince Fujisaki-san..."

"Nope," Hikaru replied firmly. He stacked a wet dish on the side counter. "Friends don't pimp friends."

The young man would have turned to needle him some more, when Jun's voice boomed from the front of the shop. "Shindo! I need more help up front!"

Hikaru hurriedly wiped his hands on his apron. "Coming!" he shouted back, and dumped the rest of the dishes into the other man's sink. He whipped off the dirty apron and quickly tied a server's clean one around his waist, as he rushed out of the kitchen and into the dining room. He skidded to a stop at the sight of Touya Akira in an elegant three-piece suit sitting calmly at the counter.

"T-Touya," he stammered in astonishment. "What are _you_ doing here?" He hadn't told Touya where he worked.

A cuff on the back of the head made him wince. He looked up to see Jun glaring at him. "Is that the way to greet customers?" she said, before marching into the kitchen to grab some bowls of ramen.

Hikaru rubbed his head sheepishly. "Heh," he grimaced. Then seeing the frown Touya was giving the doorway through which Jun had disappeared, he grinned. "Oh, don't mind her. Jun's loud but has a soft touch. So." Hikura posed expectantly with his server's pad and pencil. "What can I get ya?"

He flinched at the dark-eyed look Touya gave him.

"What I want," Touya said in a low voice, "is to know why you're working in a ramen shop."

Hikaru gaped at him. Finally he said faintly, "It... It's my job."

Touya's face turned even darker. "And why, exactly, are you not playing go professionally?"

Hikaru could only stare in slowly growing comprehension.

For Hikaru, the news that he had quit professional go was long old and buried beneath the years. He had assumed it was so as well for Touya. They never spoke to each other about their personal lives, or – after that first outburst from Touya – about the past. Occasionally he had wondered why Touya did not ask about his sudden retirement from the professional go world during the weeks they had met to play their games. It was strange, yes. But for the most part, Hikaru had put it out of his mind. The most important thing was the revived life in his go, and Touya had given that back to him. Facing Touya across the goban like that... For the first time in years, Hikaru was truly, utterly happy. He had not given a thought to his past, or what it might mean for his future.

Now, Hikaru swallowed uneasily. "Look," he said slowly, "let's talk later. I'm off work in an hour."

The next half hour was torture. Jun noticed his distraction, and after the fourth order he'd messed up that day, she finally threw up her hands in disgust and shooed him out of the restaurant thirty minutes early. "And I expect you to come in tomorrow with your brain with you," she'd said, before slamming the kitchen backdoor shut behind him.

Standing outside in the narrow alley behind the kitchen, Hikaru sighed, knowing he'd have to apologize to her and make up the time tomorrow. He stuck his hands in his pockets and walked glumly around to the front of the store, where Touya was waiting. That same old gas-guzzling monstrosity of a Mercedes was parked illegally beside the curb, but no policemen had come to bother it. Looking at it, Hikaru could only shake his head. Touya Akira the yakuza, he muttered to himself. Who woulda thought?

The door to the passenger side opened and Akira looked at him pointedly from the driver's seat. "Get in."

"Man, you just get off of bossing me around, dontcha," Hikaru grumbled, but obediently got into the car anyway. When he looked up from buckling his seat belt, he found Touya looking slightly flushed. "What?" he demanded.

But Touya only tightened his lips in a prim line. He kept his eyes on the road.

Seeing the roads flash by on the familiar way to that old _ryotei _in Kagurazuka in which they'd played their go games the past few weeks, Hikaru impulsively spoke up, "Touya, let's go to my place today."

Noticeably startled, the other man glanced over at him. "Why?"

"You don't have to feed me all the time, you know." Touya just shot him a narrow-eyed glance, not believing him. Hikaru sighed, and looked down at his lap reluctantly. "I'd feel better telling you what happened in my place," he admitted grudgingly.

At that, Touya blinked, then nodded. "Alright. Tell me the address."

It took a little longer than expected to direct Touya to his cramped old neighborhood in Okobu, since ordinarily Hikaru walked a back alley route – he and Touya began to snipe at each other in the car, over the map – but they managed to pull up in front of his place before sundown. Looking at it from a stranger's view, Hikaru felt slightly ashamed of the squat run-down buildings sitting in the shadows of Tokyo's tallest skyscrapers. Usually, he just had Touya drop him off at the local train station. The heavy rumbling as a train passed through the nearby Shin-Okobu Station set the flimsy neighborhood buildings quaking. Signs outside a few of the buildings advertised 'resting' rates of five thousand yen for a two-hour stay or twelve thousand for a full night.

"Will your car be okay here?" he asked anxiously. Touya had parked it close to the curb and the gleaming black Mercedes stood out glaringly from the small, battered Hondas dotting the rest of the street. Some of the local prostitutes were eyeing the car and its owner avariciously.

Touya looked thoughtful, then slid his business card onto the dashboard. Touya Akira's name was written in clean, concise strokes beside the title: PRESIDENT OF TOUYA-GUMI OF THE SUMIYOSHI ASSOCIATION. Incised across the top left corner was a stylized sunburst with the character for _sumi _inside.

"There," he said. "That'll take care of it."

Hikaru looked at him uncomfortably. "Um," he cleared his throat noisily. "Isn't that a bit...uh, blatant?"

"Don't worry. I know who handles this part of the neighborhood."

Hikaru could only nod dumbly, and quickly got out of the car. Touya Akira the yakuza, he reminded himself, mentally shaking his head. He led the way up to the front of his ground-floor apartment. Unlocking the door, he kept one hand on the worn handle, saying as he opened it, "It's a bit messy. I haven't had the chance to do laundry these few weeks."

The hardwood floor was piled with old jeans and dirty socks. Hikaru kicked some out of the entrance way and ushered Touya into the one all-purpose room with the tatami mat. He ducked his head sheepishly as the other man looked around his tiny apartment. "Yeah, it's not much," he admitted, "but it's mine."

"You're not...living with your parents?"

Hikaru busied himself with gathering up the dirty clothes before the television. "Nah, my dad threw me out. And my mom moved back to her parents in Nagasaki."

"I'm...sorry."

He shrugged. "Don't be. Actually, the reason I'm living on my own is because they couldn't accept my life choices. Quitting my job as a go pro and all, and then not going on to university...Well." He dumped the clothes bundle into the laundry basket with perhaps more force than was needed. "But it was for the best." He leaned down to grab more socks off the floor. "There was just no way I could play go like that or waste my life preparing to be a salaryman."

"Why?"

"What?" He shook his head warily and turned to look at Touya. "What do you mean why?"

Somehow, Touya had found the only empty spot in the room and was now sitting cross-legged on the tatami, not caring about wrinkling his expensive suit. His eyes held the same dark burning look that had arrested Hikaru in the restaurant. "You promised you would tell me why you quit go."

"Look!" Hikaru exploded, throwing down the clothes he'd been gathering. "I didn't quit go!

"Go left _me_!"

Touya stared at him. Hikaru knew he looked crazy, god, he _felt _crazy. He panted, feeling the steamroller of emotion crushing him at the thought of that one disastrous year. Touya had, with his usual ease at pricking Hikaru's composure, found his trigger words. Hikaru squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep calming breath.

"Look," he finally said, quieter, after a short moment. "You don't know what happened." Slowly, he walked over to where Touya was sitting and folded his legs wearily beneath him. He looked at a spot a foot above and to the right of the other man's head.

"It – it drove me nuts, you know, when you disappeared. The day you were supposed to play me, and you didn't come... I didn't know why. No one did. You were just. Gone.

"And then other things happened."

_Sai_, he thought wretchedly, and looked down at his clenched fists in his lap. He didn't say anything for a while, and Touya didn't interrupt.

"Anyway," he finally continued, voice rough, "I didn't know why I was playing anymore, and apparently it showed in my go. I tried, but." He paused. "When Isumi – another former insei – came and challenged me to a game, I finally realized how useless it was. Even though I wanted to play, it wasn't the same."

Touya's quiet voice startled him.

"Then why me?"

He looked up to see Touya staring intently at him.

"Why me, Shindo? You fought so hard to play that game with me when I met you again. Why, if go is no longer what you're after in your life?"

Hikaru could only stare helplessly back at him. "I just wanted to play you."

He could see a scowl now darkening Touya's face. There was a flurry of movement as Touya scrambled upright and stalked to the front door.

Hikaru scrambled up after him. "Touya! Wait!" He grabbed for his arm, but Touya threw him off. Hikaru thumped back against the foyer wall, painfully. "What the hell's wrong with you?" he shouted, raising his arms defensively.

The other man's eyes were wild with some emotion Hikaru couldn't understand. "You nearly broke both our lives," he snarled, "for a...a whim!"

"What?"

"It hurt, you fucking bastard!"

Hikaru gaped.

"It might be a game to you, Shindo, something to pass the time, amusing yourself with me –" Hikaru began to shake his head frantically, but Touya ignored him. "But I'd almost put my old life entirely behind me. Then you came along. And you showed me how badly I've let my go fall. That first game-"

The look Touya speared Hikaru with made him recoil against the wall.

"That first game. It was like you were reaching into my belly and ripping out my insides for me to see. It hurt. I would have rather been shot in the gut!"

Hikaru cringed. "Touya..." he mumbled. "I-"

Touya cut him off sharply. "But it made me feel _alive_. Alive for the first time in years.

"Now what I have is not enough. And that's showing itself in what I do now, for a living. I've been lucky so far that my lieutenants have cleaned up my mistakes. But each time was telling the other factions in the association that I'm weakening, that I'm a fool. And that I might not have the stomach anymore for what I do.

"So if you'd given up...If you had no intention of playing seriously, then we would have been both better off if you'd looked for those old insei friends of yours – and left me alone!" He finished, panting angrily.

Hikaru looked at him. "But Touya," he said helplessly, "you're the one I want."

The other man's eyes widened.

Hikaru realized suddenly what he'd said and blushed bright red. "Th-that's not what I meant," he stammered, flapping a hand at Touya. "I meant..." He drew in a deep breath, stopping himself from hyperventilating. He exhaled. "I mean," he continued steadier, "I've been chasing you for so long, Touya. Sheesh!" he exhaled, running a hand through his bangs, "During puberty, other boys were chasing girls but all I could think of was how close my go could get to yours. Um." He winced as Touya's eyes grew even wider. "Ah, uh, I'm making this worse. But it's just...well," he sighed, gave up, "go was important, you know." Then he smiled crookedly, and shrugged, "Akari was always telling me how weird that was. But I didn't mind. When you left -" Hikaru felt his voice break slightly, and he looked down at his feet and swallowed. "You," _and Sai_, he thought to himself – "were the one who convinced me to be serious about go. Without you," _either of you_, "it felt...dead."

There was a strained silence above him. Then he heard Touya say in a strange, tight voice, "Well, your go is fine now. But you've never said anything about returning to the pros – which you would, if this was not just a game to you."

Hikaru looked up. "I honestly didn't think about it, Touya," he told him quietly. "I was just happy to play you."

That dark, intense look was back in the other man's eyes. "Then think about it," Touya insisted vehemently. Hikaru flashed back to a rainy day in the past, when a much younger Touya had stared at him just like that and asked him about his future.

"What about you?" Hikaru asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"What about me?" A small, bitter smile turned Touya's mouth. "I have other obligations now. The schedule of a go pro would never work." There was a pained look on his face. "But I'll be content if you would come around to give me the occasional game."

Hikaru began to shake his head fervently, feeling the wrongness of that suggestion reverberate to the very marrow of his bones. "No, no, no." He shuddered, thinking of how futilely he'd chased after...something, those few weeks after Touya had disappeared from the go world. "I can't – not without you!"

Touya looked impatient at his refusal. "Your go is brilliant, Shindo," he snapped. "I don't understand what you meant by it being dead all those years, but I do know that you deserve more than the casual game against me." His mouth twisted. "...Sometimes I feel as if I barely remember how to hold the stones."

"That's a lie," Hikaru almost shouted. "So what if you feel out of practice? So am I! If you think I can do it –"

Touya face had gone very cold and still. "Maybe you haven't been paying attention, Shindo," he said very slowly and quietly, "but there are slightly more strings tying me down than you do. Dangerous ones, which if I let go, could discharge a few bullets into my back and anyone I care for." He stopped, then added softer, "You're the only one who can go back."

Desperate, Hikaru tried one last appeal. "Touya, I'd quit. They're not going to let me in that easily. It won't work."

But Touya wouldn't hear of it. "I'll make it work," he said. Then with a wave, he opened the door. "You have my personal number. Call me when you've decided." He paused, gave Hikaru a cool look. "Don't bother before then."

The door clicked shut behind him.

Hikaru slid down along the wall until his forehead touched his knees. He felt utterly and inexplicably drained.

"Sheesh," he muttered into his knees, "He's still the same." Facing down Touya was like beating his head against a rock – it hurt the head, and only made the rock seem harder. Hikaru had almost forgotten. "Stupid, pigheaded..."

A few tentative knocks sounded against the door. Hikaru scrambled to his feet and threw open the door. But the face that greeted him was not the one he wanted to see.

"Oh," he muttered, deflated. "It's you."

The scantily clad 'woman' narrowed 'her' eyes. "What do you mean, 'it's you'? Think you're all high and mighty now, just because you had some big honcho over?"

Hikaru rubbed a hand over his eyes tiredly. "Yuki, what are you going on about now?"

Yuki was waiting for the money to get the operation that would give 'her' the gender she should have been born with. Since he'd known, Hikaru had made an effort to think of her by the right feminine pronoun. Even when she deliberately provoked him.

She leaned against the doorjamb, flashing her white thigh. "Aren't you gonna let me in?"

Hikaru rolled his eyes at the familiar attempt and resolutely blocked the doorway. "No. I've had a long day, so if you'd just tell me what you want."

Her eyes shifted from his. Then she looked coyly up at him from her lashes. "Look, Shindo," she smiled coaxingly, stroking her faux-schoolgirl pigtails. "I need some money."

"NO." He moved to shut the door.

She quickly stuck her foot in the doorway. "Come on. I just need a few thousand – for the rent."

Hikaru glanced at her short sailor-uniform. The tracks were painfully visible on her arms. "Yuki, it's always the rent."

He'd given some money to her the first few times she'd asked – the very first time being the day he'd moved into the building – but he'd quickly learned not to. These days, he tried to 'lend' whatever extra money he had to her roommate, who actually took care of the rent and was working hard to get Yuki off the streets.

Yuki looked at him accusingly. "Well, this time it's true. Come on, Shindo, have a heart. My roommate's sick, so he can't work. What's a girl to do? Look – " She put her hands on her hips, "I'll do you. The whole night even. Just give me six thousand yen, cash."

"I told you, Yuki: No means no. Also," Hikaru sighed, "I don't get my paycheck until another few weeks. So sorry, but no money." He moved to close the door again, trying to nudge her foot from the doorway.

She refused to budge. "What about the money _he_ gave you?"

"Who?"

"That boss from the Sumiyoshi. Lean, page-boy cut, dressed like a big spender." She glowered at him. "I saw him leave just now."

Hikaru was honestly bewildered. "Why would he give me money?" he demanded of her.

"Why would _he_ be visiting _you_," she shot back.

He closed his eyes against the raging headache he could feel coming. "Yuki," he said with great patience, "I don't know what you think he was doing here –" He quickly held up a hand. "- and I don't want to know. But he did not leave any money. At all. So you can just look for some other sucker to scam." He pushed her foot forcefully out of the doorway. "Good night!" The door slammed shut with a gratifying bang.

The pounding continued for a couple minutes afterwards as Hikaru got ready for sleep. Muffled through the thick wood of the door, he could hear her swearing – something about him not being man enough, and a few creative suggestions for what he could do with himself (Hikaru was impressed, and promptly stored some of those for future use) – but eventually the racket stopped.

Hikaru breathed a sigh of relief from beneath his pillow. Then he moved the pillow from his face and stared at the cracked ceiling above him. Lying there, flat on his back, on the tatami of his one-room apartment, he tried to think back to the days when he'd been a go pro. He'd felt like another person. That boy who had just passed the pro exams...He had never had to wash his own socks, never cooked, never had to worry about the water cutting off if he couldn't pay. Did he ever imagine he would be here in six years, living next door to a crack addict, where just across the street there was a 'love' motel charging by the hour? Hikaru sighed.

Sai, he knew, would have been appalled.

...Sai.

After all this time, he still couldn't understand. Sai was supposed to have been with him for years. But instead, he was barely with him for two.

Touya would have liked to play Sai again. Hikaru knew Sai was in his go, but he wasn't sure if that was enough. Maybe, if it had been Sai playing...

If it had been Sai playing, maybe Touya would have tried harder to go back with him to the Go Institute and be a professional go player again.

Hikaru clutched the pillow to his chest. _Sai_, he asked silently, _why did you have to leave?_

But the cracked ceiling held no answers.

* * *

**Part 3**

Akari was looking forward to seeing Hikaru again.

On the phone the last time they'd talked, he had sounded so much happier. "Akari!" he'd told her, "I'm playing go again." She had been shocked at first, and only stammered back some inane comment on how 'nice' that was. Then she'd had to hang up because Hikaru said he had to leave – something about meeting someone for a match. She told him she would see him as soon as she got home from college and calmly said goodbye. Inside, her head was whirring: she remembered clearly how upset Hikaru had been that last year in middle school, the terribly final way in which he'd stated that he had quit go. She remembered also a few years later, how often he had escaped next door to her house after he'd announced to his parents the decision to not apply to college. "That life, it would be a lie," he'd insisted. And Akari, knowing the particularly uncompromising bent of Hikaru's character, could only agree.

Her parents began to encourage her not to associate with him anymore. They tried to be subtle about it, but Akari knew the blunt truth of what they meant:

There was no future for a man without a college degree. For those who dropped out of Japan's competitive education system, there were only the menial jobs – often fulfilled by low wage-earning foreigners – or, far more likely, the ranks of organized crime.

Her parents did not want their daughter attached to such a man.

Akari knew all this, but still she refused to break off contact with Hikaru. The years had smoothed off most of his rough edges, and what was left she found endearing. Sometimes she found herself missing the old, brash Shindo Hikaru; the sight of his unbleached black bangs – in mourning, she'd often thought – cast a quietness over her interactions with him. But the man he had become was someone she increasingly admired. She had grown up with Hikaru, played and fought with him, and she felt that – more than anyone else – she knew what an honest and gentle heart he had.

Two years of close contact with college boys had only shown her how much brighter and more decent Shindo Hikaru was. For one thing, Hikaru had always treated her as an independent thinking human being, and despite his brashness, never looked down on her or expected anything less of her simply because she was female. In fact, he had been one of her staunchest supporters when she'd decided to apply to Tokyo University to be a doctor.

Now, smoothing back her hair one last time, she turned away from the mirror and gathered the shopping bag containing the newly knit scarf and a box of Hikaru's favorite pastries. Running down the stairs, and past the kitchen on her way to the front door, she called out, "Mom! I'm going out for a bit. I might be late for dinner!"

Her mom immediately hurried after her, wringing her hands in her apron. "You just got back for vacation, sweetheart. Do you have to go out now?"

Slipping on her shoes, Akari leaned over and quickly kissed her mom on the cheek. "Don't worry. I'll be back before dark."

As she opened the door, she heard a heavy, resigned sigh behind her. Then, "Tell Hikaru hello for me."

Akari looked back over her shoulder in surprise. Then she smiled. "I will." Before she closed the door, she paused and added, "Thanks, Mom." The door closed, shutting on her mother's unhappy and anxious face.

Akari passed the time on the train thinking contentedly of the way her life was going. Her parents were not going to be a problem. And money was not an issue. At the very least, Hikaru would not be demanding she quit her career in order to raise a family. If anything, _Hikaru_ would be the one staying at home with the kids. Akari pondered this thought, and found she liked it, very much so.

Warned by these imaginings, Akari greeted Hikaru's wide welcoming grin with a great, unrestrained smile.

"Akari!" he shouted from across the restaurant.

The shop was unusually empty, now being the time between lunch and dinner. The few customers seated at the counter only chuckled at Hikaru's exuberance, and went back to slurping their noodles. A wink sent her way by a friendly old grandfather made Akari blush slightly in happy embarrassment.

"Jun!" Hikaru called into the kitchen, eagerly untying his apron, "I'm taking a break!"

"Is that Akari-chan?" The older woman stuck her head out of the kitchen. She smiled, seeing Akari bow in greeting. "All right, Shindo," she waved at Hikaru. "You have the next half-hour off. Don't be late!"

Hikaru waved a cheerful thanks, and quickly led Akari through a door to the back of the store where an impromptu arrangement of a sofa, table and television constituted the employees' resting lounge. Akari threw off her heavy winter coat and gloves with relief. The shopping bag she placed carefully next to her on the ground.

"So, Hikaru," she smiled, sitting down on the sofa, "tell me what happened. How did you suddenly decide to take up go again?"

A few informative minutes later, a cold, empty pit was forming deep in her belly.

Touya, Touya, _Touya_.

It was like middle school all over again.

Back then, he'd been like that too. Every other word out of his mouth would be 'go' or 'Touya,' so that she hadn't known how to talk to him anymore. The only time she could get him to spend with her had been the few free afternoons he had used to play _shidougo_ with her in order to 'relax' himself before a big game. In the beginning, she had briefly wished Hikaru would give up go – just for a while, and go play soccer again or something else that was more his age. But seeing his dedication to the game, she knew she couldn't really wish it of him. His enthusiasm had dragged her in instead. And Touya, she remembered from that memorable tournament battle between the third-boards, had been just as dedicated as Hikaru – if not more.

She had thought it weird, the unbelievable passion the boys put into a board game and each other. At the time she'd dismissed it as unworthy of her. Then Hikaru had quit go, and didn't speak to her about it for years. She had almost entirely forgotten.

But now the past was back. The feeling from back then...

Akari interrupted the beginning of another of Hikaru's tirade on how utterly frustrating Touya Akira was, and how he was being absolutely impossible, because there was just no way, no way at all, Hikaru was going back as a go pro without him. The worst part of it was – the absolute _pits_, Hikaru emphasized – was how Touya refused to meet with him until he agreed.

"Hikaru," she said slowly. "How do you think of me?"

The man looked startled at her out-of-the-blue question. He snapped his mouth shut mid-word. "What?" He shook his head, "Akari, what do you mean?"

"When you think of the future, Hikaru," she stressed, "what do you see for you and me?"

He smiled easily, and replied, "You're my friend, Akari."

Disappointment was heavy and bitter. "And nothing else?"

Hikaru looked clearly confused. "What else is there?" he asked.

"I'm a girl."

Hikaru stared at her as if she'd lost her mind, speaking something so obvious. "Yeah?"

"I'm a _girl_," she stressed, "and you're a guy. And most guys would have noticed if a pretty girl was visiting their workplace, giving them food, and calling them whenever she had the chance."

Hikaru's eyes had grown very wide. "...oh," he said, in a very small voice.

Akari's shoulder had drawn up defensively. "Well?" she demanded. She had just as well confessed her feelings. "Is that all you can say?"

"But Akari," Hikaru pleaded weakly, "I've known you forever."

For a moment, she stared uncomprehendingly at him. Then she clenched her hands, and looked down at the bag beside her feet containing the pastries that she'd looked all over for Shibuya for because it was Hikaru's favorite.

"I've known you forever, too," she said quietly. "But it's only let me like you more."

There was a long, and awkward pause. Then she heard Hikaru say her name softly. His knees shifted over to hers on the sofa. "Akari," he repeated, louder, when she didn't respond. She looked up when he touched her gingerly on the hand. "I like you too," he said seriously; her heart skipped a beat - "...But I don't think it's like that."

She grabbed onto his hand. "Can't you –" she swallowed hard, "can't you try?"

Looking much older than his years, Hikaru only regarded her gently. He did not move to pull his hand away. "It doesn't work that way, Akari," he said quietly.

She dropped his hand.

"How do you think it works?" she asked harshly. She truly wanted to know Hikaru's mind on this.

Sheepishly, Hikaru put a hand to the back of his head. "I'm not sure." He hesitated. "I don't believe in fireworks and stuff like that, but something, maybe? A spark? Something that makes a person stand out from everyone else." He shrugged. "Honestly, it's not something I think about. Working here takes up enough of my time as it is. That and now, go." He laughed a little, forcefully, "Hey, it's a good thing you're not going to be wasting your time on me anymore. You deserve some guy whose life isn't one big mess."

Silently, Akari stood up and gathered her coat and gloves from the sofa.

"Here." She shoved the shopping bag with his Christmas presents, including the pastry box, into his arms; she did not make contact with his eyes. "This is for you. Make sure you eat enough – you forget sometimes." She quickly pulled on her coat and buttoned herself up. On her way past Hikaru, she told him, "Call me anytime. Like you said, we're friends. Just," she hesitated, then continued unsteadily, still not meeting his eyes, "just maybe not in the next few weeks."

There was a strained silence, then: "Thanks, Akari." Hikaru's voice was low and grateful.

At the doorway, she paused.

"I'm glad you found him," she said suddenly. "Despite everything," she glanced over her shoulder at Hikaru, "...you seem like yourself again."

Akari smiled sadly at the bemused look on Hikaru's face, but left before he could demand what she meant. He'll figure it out soon enough.

* * *

**Part 4**

He flipped the cell phone over and over again in his hand.

It had been one of the first things Touya gave him. At the time, he had protested loudly against any form of charity. But Touya had just given him this look that said he couldn't believe how stupid Hikaru was being. "And how, exactly," he'd snipped, "will I contact you without a phone?" An expensive cell phone service had been one of the first things Hikaru had decided he could do without when he'd moved out on his own. And the landline at his apartment was more often than not the last bill paid when his finances cut too close. And Hikaru's finances always cut too close.

Akari had taken to calling him at the ramen shop.

When Hikaru mentioned this and suggested Touya do the same thing, the other man had given him another look – this time, one Hikaru couldn't quite read – and Touya had replied curtly, "Security."

So here he was in bed, flipping over and over in his hand the cell phone that Touya had given him nearly a month ago, when he hadn't seen Touya himself in nearly two weeks. He didn't realize how insular he'd become until he found his evenings suddenly and inexplicably empty after Touya made his worrisome little ultimatum.

He couldn't meet up with Akari either, since she'd gone back to her college. And anyway, he'd promised he wouldn't bother her for a while.

Her confession was still a bit of a shock.

Hikaru sighed, and flopped back onto his futon, tossing the cell phone onto the floor beside him. The ceiling crack above him was a familiar and reassuring sight. He needed a bit of reassurance after the tumultuous events the last few days. It was as if suddenly he'd looked around and realized none of his friends were what they seemed. Take Akari for instance. He had thought they were just really good friends. Granted, sometimes, he thought of her as a nice, somewhat domineering younger sister who gave him food. But never did she hint that she harbored more than platonic feelings for him.

"Sheesh, Akari," he grumbled, "why'd you have to go and be such a girl." But then he immediately felt guilty.

Hikaru knew he was, for some reason, uncommonly oblivious to things like that. Usually, it took something quite brazen – something Yuki or a woman like her would do – to make him realize that someone was interested in him _in that way_. And he certainly didn't expect Akari to throw herself on him the way Yuki had the first time he met her.

But he had been as honest as he could when he told Akari he had never thought of her like that. In fact, Hikaru didn't think he'd thought of any girl like that, ever. There were always too many other things going on in his life. The added burden of a girlfriend he didn't need. In fact, he thought bitchedly to himself, Touya Akira was equal to the burden of at least three different girlfriends.

He glared at the cell phone lying beside him, but it still resolutely refused to ring.

The past two weeks, Hikaru had left an untold number of messages on Touya's phone. Touya had, after the first few calls, simply taken to not answering. Hikaru was still refusing to consider going back as a go pro if Touya wasn't going to go back with him. Leaving him behind was out of the question.

But now, alone in his one-room apartment, without have faced Touya across the goban in weeks, Hikaru wondered if he was going at it the wrong way. He glanced at the windup clock and groaned at the realization it was only nine, and it was the night of New Year's Eve. He never went to bed that early before Touya messed with his life.

Hikaru wondered what Touya was doing.

Impulsively, he thumbed open the cell phone and pressed speed-dial one. To his happy surprise, the phone only rang once, then was picked up. He could hear music tinkling in the background.

"Touya? It's Shindo."

The voice from the speaker was overly cool. "Yes?"

"Look," he said quickly before the other man could hang up, "can we talk?"

The long, considering silence before Touya said anything made him nervous. Then Touya answered, "The car will be in front of your building in fifteen minutes." He cut the call before Hikaru could agree or disagree, leaving Hikaru staring down in disbelief at the cell phone in his hands.

"Geez, his manners sure got worse over the years," Hikaru muttered.

The car actually arrived five minutes early. Hikaru had barely finished pulling on a jacket when a heavy pounding sounded through the front door, rattling the foyer walls. Irritated, Hikaru wrenched open the door. "What the hell, Touya –" He cut himself off. Standing at the entrance was a hulking figure of man he had never seen before.

"The boss sent me," the man said gruffly.

Hikaru swallowed. "Oh, you mean..."

The man grunted curtly and raised his left hand. The pinky was missing a segment.

Hikaru tried hard not to stare at this traditional yakuza self-mutilation. "Right."

The car waiting outside on the curb was the same one Touya had driven. It made Hikaru feel a little more comfortable seeing it. However, the driver Touya had sent pointedly opened the backdoor instead of the customary passenger side that Hikaru had grown accustomed to; Hikaru obediently got in.

As the unfamiliar roads flashed past in the window, however, Hikaru became increasingly uneasy. "Um, excuse me," he raised his voice, "aren't we going to the Kagurazuka district?"

The man driving the car only grunted a negative.

Hikaru tried again. "_Where_ are we going?"

The grunt this time sounded aggravated. "To the boss's," was all he got.

Hikaru settled back on the seat, resolved not to irritate the man any further. He looked like he ate people like Hikaru for breakfast; and while Touya might object after the matter, Hikaru didn't think it would help _him_. Then he began to wonder if this was indeed the car Touya had said he would send for him: It had been five minutes early, and he hadn't had a good look at the car in the night gloom. So far the familiar, crowded, festive-lit streets of downtown Tokyo were flashing past his window, but what if they drove straight on to some empty, cement back lot... Hikaru gripped Touya's cell phone in his hands.

Just as his wonderings became increasingly paranoid, the car pulled up in front of the glittering façade of the Tokyo Ritz-Carlton.

The hotel doorman looked surprised to see Hikaru step out of the Mercedes, but then quickly smoothed his face into a bland expression of welcome. Hikaru stopped uncertainly before him. He would have tried to ask Touya's hulk of a driver, but the car had pealed off in the direction of the parking lot. There had been a brief scuffle – resolved nonviolently, thank god – when the valet had tried to take the car keys from the man. Now Hikaru stood alone before the entrance of the grand hotel.

"Hey, mister," Hikaru greeted the doorman, "Can you tell me where to find Touya? Touya Akira." He raised his hand to the level of his head. "About this tall, strange hair-cut, likes to wear suits with odd colored ties."

The doorman had looked blandly at him throughout this short recitation. When Hikaru finished, he said nothing and waved a hand inside, toward the hotel entrance. Hikaru stared at the revolving door, then back at the doorman. "The front desk." He had the strangest feeling he was being snubbed. The doorman bowed politely. "Right. Thanks, man."

When he pushed past the revolving door and walked down the large, glittering hotel lobby, an elegantly dressed woman stepped out from a nearby lounge. "Shindo Hikaru?" she asked, the tone of her voice clearly stated that the question was mere courtesy.

Hikaru stopped and looked at her curiously. "Yeah, that's me," he replied. "Where's Touya?"

She smiled, her carefully glossed lips parting to reveal small, white teeth. "The gentlemen are waiting in the private room. Please follow me."

The private "room" turned out to be a small ballroom, easily twenty times the size of Hikaru's small one-room apartment. Hikaru couldn't help but stare at the enormous crystal chandelier dripping with strands of faceted teardrops from the middle of the vaulted ceiling. He almost missed how the black-suited guards blocked the double doors behind him. Blinking back the dazzling brilliance of the lights, Hikaru slowly realized that the ballroom was filled with tall, gorgeous women in suspiciously skimpy gowns. There were a few comfortable-looking, middle-aged men circulating like great, dark predators through the shoal of brightly colored women. He didn't see Touya anywhere.

The same woman who had led him inside interrupted his uncomfortable regard of the barred exit. "Excuse me, Shindo-san, this way please."

She led him further in, this time into a side room that was actually small enough to be called such. He spotted the back of Touya immediately. Hikaru would have called out to him, unbelievably relieved to find a familiar face, but then abruptly caught the brittle tension of the other man's spine. The exuberant greeting died in his mouth. When Touya turned to face him, Hikaru knew he had been right to wait.

"Hello, Shindo," Touya greeted him politely, sounding to all the world as if they were the barest of acquaintances. "I'm glad you could join us tonight."

Hikaru smiled weakly. "Hey to you too."

The large, balding man that Touya had been talking snapped shut the fan he was holding and also turned to Hikaru. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of Hikaru's dirty, well-worn jeans and sneakers. Hikaru fidgeted under the man's small, beady gaze, only then realizing he might be slightly underdressed for the surroundings.

The man fingered the folded length of his fan thoughtfully. He was, Hikaru suddenly saw, missing the top two segments of his pinky. "You going to skin this one, or toss him back, eh, Akira-kun?"

'Akira-kun' smiled coolly. "Always a joker, Ohba-san. No, this is my choice for the game tonight."

Hikaru began to feel his palms clam up with sweat. He didn't like the sound of whatever Touya was volunteering him for, but he suspected speaking up now would be the most idiotic thing to do. Not the least, he was sure Touya would never speak to him again if he did.

Ohba grinned widely, as if he could read Hikaru's anxiety. "Very well. I accept your choice." He waved his fan toward the center table, which Hikaru just realized held a go board. "Shall we?"

Touya bowed in assent. The large man and a few black-suited men proceeded to the seats surrounding the go board. Hikaru hung back with Touya.

"H-hey," Hikaru tugged at Touya's sleeve, "what am I doing?"

Touya turned at Hikaru's strained whisper. He gazed at him calmly. "Just win, Shindo." And then he turned sharply and joined the spectators around the table.

Left behind, Hikaru sputtered in silent outrage. At that moment, there was a slight commotion at the door. The large man, Ohba, jovially called out from his seat, "Ah, Gokiso-sensei. You're finally here."

A tiny man shuffled in and bowed servilely from just inside the doorway. "Oh-Ohba-san," he stammered.

It took Hikaru a long minute to recognize the man. When it hit him, he stared incredulously at this tiny figure of a man. He had only gotten grayer and more shriveled up with the years. The last time Hikaru had seen him, Sai had utterly dominated and humiliated him at an amateur go festival.

"You!" Hikaru shouted, pointing at the go pro who had tried to fake a Shuusaku goban.

The tiny man looked startled. "Do we...know each other?" he asked hesitantly.

The sudden cessation of noise in the room made Hikaru suddenly remember where he was – and who he was among. The stares from all the hard-eyed men in the room made the hairs on the nape of his neck stiffen. Hikaru shook his head mutely.

"If the previously discussed terms are satisfactory," Touya interjected smoothly, addressing only Ohba who was seated beside him, "we should begin the match."

Ohba gave a short, satisfied nod. The look he gave Touya over the edge of his languidly waving fan was cold and missed nothing. "Of course," he said, "the loser takes all."

"Of course," Touya murmured.

The tiny pro, Gokiso, had shuffled over to the head of the go board. After hesitating for a moment, Hikaru followed and sat down opposite him at the table. He tried to look to Touya for what he should do next, but the other man only had that infuriatingly polite smile on his face. Ohba with the small, cold eyes smiled languidly at him from behind his fan.

Seeing Hikaru keep glancing to him, Touya only said, "Do your best, please. I trust your go."

Ohba chuckled nastily on overhearing that comment. "And I, Akira-kun," he grinned, "trust Gokiso-sensei's 7-dan."

Touya returned the smile politely but Hikaru could see how the corners of his eyes tightened. He wondered if Touya was worried about him not beating the old man. Sheesh, Hikaru thought to himself, feeling a bit offended. Sai had wiped the goban with this guy with one hand tied behind his back in that come-from-behind game years ago; the least Hikaru could do was beat him bloody in an even match. He paused. This was an even match, right?

As Hikaru bowed to the ceremonial greeting before the game start, he decided it didn't matter. Handicap or not, he was going to _dominate_ the board and give the old pro no choice but to resign. He found he liked the sound of that plan very much. _Yoshi!_ Hikaru cheered on himself silently.

It turned out that the game wasn't half as exciting as the most causal game he'd played with Touya. In the space of half an hour, he'd staked out the most important points on the board, strengthened his territory, and encompassed Gokiso's all in one swoop. Hikaru kept waiting to hear the old pro acknowledge his defeat – Hikaru could see clearly that his advantage wasn't going to change however the other man played. But for some strange reason, Gokiso was playing long past the polite point of resignation. Gokiso's white stones kept clicking persistently on the go board. Hikaru frowned, and looked up to see Touya had noticed this as well. Touya had a bland, non-expression on his face as he turned to Ohba, who was seated beside him.

Ohba looked murderous.

Meanwhile, Gokiso persistently placed one losing stone after another, hands shaking. He was, Hikaru suddenly realized, afraid to stop.

"Will you concede the match, Ohba?" Touya murmured.

The large man exploded from his seat. "Enough!" he shouted, his fan sweeping across the go board, scattering stones all over the floor.

The sudden explosion of noise caused several men around Touya to tense and reach inside their suit jacket. The men around Ohba tensed as well. For a moment, there was a strained standoff. Hikaru tried hard not to breathe.

Touya remained seated quietly, a still center of calm in the room. "Do we have an agreement then?" he said evenly.

Ohba glared into Touya's straight, clear eyes. "Yeah," he ground out after a long, strained silence, "we do."

Then he and his men swept out of the room in a dark, angry flurry.

As the last of Ohba's men stalked out the door, Touya glanced at the old washed-up go pro that had been left behind. Gokiso 7-dan was still cowering on the floor beside his chair, not moving from where he'd fallen when Ohba swept free the go board.

"Make yourself scarce in Tokyo for a few months," Touya advised him not unkindly. "Ohba doesn't like to lose."

The old man nodded his head feebly. "Y-yes," he stuttered.

But Touya didn't acknowledge him, like he'd already dismissed the old pro from his mind. He nodded a dismissal at the men remaining the room, and the rest of the black-suited men slipped out. Then Touya stood up from the plush seat and brushed off the creases on his pants. He smoothly straightened his necktie. From something like a daze, Hikaru noticed that he was wearing that funny, bee-striped tie. That brief piece of familiarity snapped Hikaru back to the ordinary, moving world.

"...Touya," Hikaru said slowly, "what –"

A sharp hand motion cut him off. "Not here," he said, and strode out the room. Hikaru had to hurry to catch up.

Outside was the same glittering, colorful, phony world that Hikaru remembered. The women were smiling just a little wider, laughing just a bit too loud. Most had latched onto the arms of one of those comfortable-looking man. Hikaru glanced down at his wristwatch; it was only an hour to midnight. A waiter passed with a tray of champagne flutes, and Hikaru shooed him away quickly, but not before Touya managed to snag a glass for himself. Ohba was nowhere in sight.

"He probably left by the side door...Loss of face, you see," Touya murmured, correctly interpreting Hikaru's looking around the room.

Hikaru frowned at the nonchalantly champagne-sipping man standing beside him. "About him," he began, "what exactly –"

But Touya shushed him again, this time with a hand on his mouth. Hikaru blinked at the warm, dry brush of skin against his lips. This close, he couldn't help but notice the thick, dark fall of eyelashes lying against Touya's cheek. He felt slightly flushed beneath Touya's half-lidded gaze.

"Not here," Touya repeated, uncomfortably close in his ear. He felt the weight of Touya's hand press down upon his arm. Then Touya turned and began striding to the exit, and Hikaru had to hurriedly follow.

As they detoured around the center of the ballroom where a few couples were swaying idly to music, some women made to approach him and Touya. But as soon as they drew close, their eyes fastened to the lapels of Touya's jacket, and, without making eye contact, quickly backed away. Hikaru looked too, but saw nothing but a small, innocuous, golden pin in the shape of an S. Hikaru shrugged to himself warily. It was just another strange thing in a long night of oddities.

More important-looking men were streaming through the door as he and Touya exited the ballroom. He caught each of them slipping long, elaborately wrapped envelopes onto a large, ornate table just past the double doors, which he'd somehow missed seeing when the woman had first ushered him in.

"Don't stare," Touya said quietly as they neared the table, "it's impolite."

Hikaru tried hard not to, especially when he thought he saw an eminently famous face pass by. "Is that the," he croaked, but couldn't get the rest of the words, 'prime minister,' out.

Touya didn't even look. "Most likely," he replied. "Try not to judge, Shindo, we all have our secrets."

By now Hikaru had realized that the party was just a polite pretense to extort money from the political and industrial giants of the nation. The tall, gorgeous and scantily clad women crowding the ballroom were probably supposed to encourage the blackmailed men into parting with even more money. From what little Hikaru had seen, the men being blackmailed seemed perfectly ready to do so.

As soon as he followed Touya back to the hotel lobby, Hikaru felt himself breathe a sigh of relief. Ostentatious as the lobby of the Tokyo Ritz was, it was still a degree more palatable than the drunken lechery sponsored by the yakuza.

"Where are you taking us, Touya?"

"A private suite. We can talk there." Saying so, he approached a small, elegant side-elevator and slid a gold card into the slot. The burnished brass doors of the elevator swooshed open with the tinkle of a bell. Touya stepped inside and looked at him impatiently when Hikaru didn't immediately follow. The doors of the elevators closed smoothly behind Hikaru, nearly catching him by the shirttails.

"Can we talk _now_?" Hikaru asked a little snippily, as the elevator moved up. Touya was showing an unfortunate flair for dramatics that night.

"Just wait."

The elevator ride did not last long, which was fortunate for Hikaru's state of mind, and soon the doors slid open to an impressive view of the glittering Tokyo skyline at night. In the distance, Tokyo Tower was lit with a warm, orange glow. At any other time, Hikaru would have gaped at this display, but at that point he had had enough of the show of affluence Touya had been presenting to him through the entire, wretched evening. He stormed out of the elevator before the other man, and then whirled on him just as the elevator slid shut behind him.

"Touya!" he jabbed a finger at him, "You owe me an explanation! What the hell was that back there?" He threw up his arms in angry bewilderment, miming the explosion of go stones when Ohba had acknowledged his loss.

Touya faced him evenly. "If you lost, I would have had to ferry five tons of cocaine into Nagasaki."

Hikaru could only stare, stupefied.

The other man continued on, apparently taking the silence as a demand for further elaboration. "Ohba wanted to use my shipping and import control contacts to expand his drug business," he explained. "He's been mostly doing petty dealings of _shabu _– that's methamphetamine – on the Tokyo streets. But _shabu_ is sold pure. Not much profit to be earned." Hikaru only stared; he felt the top of his head want to explode. The other man didn't seem to notice. "Now, coke – that can be cut." Touya's voice was remarkably matter-of-fact as he talked. "His plan would have put two-thirds of the yuppies and clubbing crowd on a coke addiction."

Hikaru finally found his voice. "Are you _insane_?" he exploded. "How can you just leave that to me?"

Even in the dimness, he could see Touya looked annoyed. "But this was the quickest way to accomplish what I needed. And I'm not yet risking open warfare with Ohba's faction."

"And you left it all to me. Touya!" He waved his arms. "Why didn't you handle it yourself?"

"Protocol, Shindo. He provided an unknown opponent, and I had to do the same. Protocol," he emphasized, "stopped us from settling the matter more...violently." He paused, then added, "That and the man's love for a good bet. He was, after all, just a lowly _bakuto­_ originally – a gambler."

Hikaru collapsed back onto a richly upholstered armchair. "But it's finished, right?" he asked tiredly. Touya didn't answer. "Touya?"

"This time," the other man finally, quietly agreed.

The sudden brilliance of fireworks from outside the tall windows barely illuminated the tired set of Touya's mouth. Hikaru couldn't remember a time the other man had looked so listless before him. Whenever Touya had faced him before, especially back when they first met as boys, the intense light in his eyes had always made Hikaru feel as if he was hearing the bugle call to war. It had made him want to run and fight for...something. Now Touya's eyes only made him feel weary and wistful.

"Do you see now," the man asked in a soft voice. "This," he spread his hands out before him, encompassing the large, dark room and the entire Tokyo skyline before him; rainbow bursts of fireworks lit the night, "this is why I can't go back to professional go."

Hikaru didn't know what to say.

He had called Touya on the phone, somehow intending to persuade the other man to go back with him to the world of professional go. But the events of the past few hours had put into stark perspective all that Touya could lose by doing so. And both he and the tired man standing in front of him knew they were not talking about the loss of a penthouse suite with a view at the Ritz.

"Was he...?" Hikaru didn't quite know how to ask, "Was Ohba the man who had your parents killed?"

Touya's hands clenched at his sides. "Maybe. He certainly has much to gain if he takes over the Touya-gumi. But then, there are many others in the association I can say that for."

Hikaru stared down at his own hands. Then, quietly he said, "Touya, what _do_ you do with your shipping and import contacts?"

There was a long, heavy silence. Finally, he heard the other man's strained voice. "I can't tell you. But I can promise, no drugs."

"...oh." Hikaru's voice sounded very small in the large, echoing penthouse suite.

He stood up from the armchair clumsily and hurriedly raised a hand when the other man made to move toward him. "Just- just got up too quickly...that's all." Even in the dark, he couldn't quite meet Touya's eyes. "I gotta go. Work will be just hell tomorrow." He tried to smile, gave up, and just blindly pushed his way to where he remembered the elevator to be. He fumbled for the elevator button.

There was a rustle of cloth and quick footsteps. From behind, an arm caught him hard about the shoulders. The brief, close press of Touya's chest against his back caught him by surprise. "I didn't intend this," Touya's voice came haltingly from behind him. "My world – I didn't want you to know."

Hikaru felt himself trembling. The close contact with the other man's body made him feel intensely uncomfortable, like there was a stranger inside his skin wanting to claw out. He pushed out of the other man's grasp. "I gotta go," he mumbled.

Touya's voice stopped his hand on the elevator button.

"Shindo. Will you play professional go again?"

It was an important question. One Hikaru knew he should answer with a resounding yes. The life in his games had returned, and now there was no one else he was waiting to drag back with him into the world of professional go. "I – I don't know."

The elevator door pinged open just then, and Hikaru stumbled in. His last view as the door slid shut was the sight of Touya's silhouetted figure standing unnaturally still before the glittering backdrop of celebratory, downtown Tokyo.

That night when Hikaru got back to his apartment, he took out the dusty goban for the first time and laid down stone after stone from the games he had played with Sai all those long years ago. His memory of them was as clear and sharp as the day the ghost had disappeared from his life. In that tiny room, the sound of stone on wood continued until the sky turned gray with the light of that year's first morning.

But no matter how long he played, black never won.

* * *

**Part 5**

Jun's voice whipped across the kitchen.

"Watch it, boy!"

Hikaru caught himself, one hand on the counter, the other balancing the precariously teetering pile of dirty bowls. He made it to the sink this time, not a dish broken. It was a brief respite: the past two weeks had seen more broken crockery than his past two years combined. His paycheck was suffering from his clumsiness.

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered, hurrying past the scowling woman at the entrance of the kitchen.

Jun caught him by the arm as he passed. "What the hell is wrong with you, Shindo?" She looked genuinely concerned. Considering that she was taking time during a busy lunch hour just to ask him, Jun must be very worried.

Hikaru shrugged off her hand. "Nothing." He bent over the boxes of ramen he was supposed to deliver, busily double-checking that they were properly packed before tying them to the delivery bike. When he turned again, Jun was already gone.

That day, the press of customers didn't let up until early evening. By the time Hikaru was ready to hang his apron up on the peg in the kitchen, the sun had already set. As he grabbed his jacket to leave, Jun's voice stopped him.

"Shindo, I need to talk to you."

Hikaru sighed, gave himself a moment, and then turned around to face her. "Look," he said, "I'm really sorry about the last few days. But you're already taking it out of my paycheck."

In fact, there would be no 'loans' to Yuki's roommate this month, nor possibly any gas for his water heater. He saw a winter of cold baths ahead.

Jun shook her head impatiently. "No, that's not what I want to talk about. Sit down, Shindo." She gestured outside to a stool by the counter in the now empty dining room.

With a brief shrug, Hikaru took the stool. Jun sat down on the one next to him.

"I'm not getting younger, Shindo," she began unexpectedly. Hikaru looked at her in puzzlement. This was not what he thought she would say. "Shindo," Jun continued, looking very serious, "I'm thinking of retiring."

Hikaru stared at her, feeling as he'd just seen a roasted Peking duck fly back into the sky.

If there one thing anyone knew about Jun, it was that she was a terminal workaholic. She probably considered the ramen shop more her flesh-and-blood than her own son.

But it seemed that the woman in front of him was still Jun.

"Of course, not immediately," she added. "Sometime. Eventually." A look of pain crossed her face. "Soon." Then she impatiently shook her head, "Ah, excuse this old lady's ramblings. I do have a point. Shindo Hikaru," she grabbed one of his slack hands, "when I go, I want you to have my shop."

He felt his heart stutter and skip a beat. Hikaru swallowed. "But – your son..." he protested.

Jun rolled her eyes and waved an impatient hand in the air. "That young reprobate can handle himself. He'll be a fancy, big-name lawyer so long as he keeps his mouth about me being his mother." Her voice trailed off, and she squeezed his hand. "He'll be fine," she continued gently. "It's you I'm worried about."

Hikaru felt his chest draw up tight with emotion. "Jun," he muttered, and squeezed her hand back. He suddenly thought of his own mom, who he hadn't seen in nearly two years.

"So, what's your answer?"

He considered it seriously for the space of two minutes. The realization that he could have security, that he wouldn't have to worry about money anymore if he continued to live frugally...if he continued to live the way he was right then. Suddenly, he had a vision of himself, twenty years down the line, graying and with a lost look in his, eyes serving the same old, endless line of students and salarymen bowl after bowl of ramen.

He thought back to the past two years. But all he could remember was the last two months and a half, and the cold, brittle feel of stones between his fingers.

Slowly, Hikaru loosed his hand from Jun's clasp. "I'm sorry, Jun," he said quietly. "I can't."

Strangely, Jun looked unsurprised. "Well," she said, blowing a piece of hair out of her eyes, "I saw that coming."

He stared at her, flabbergasted.

"Look, dear boy," she rolled her eyes at him, "you've been restless for _weeks_ – even before you started breaking my dishes. Anyone could have guessed you weren't going to be here for long." She smirked at him, "About time you yourself realized that."

Hikaru sputtered. "But I –"

She held up a hand. "Stop. Lying is a disgusting habit. So is denial. Speaking of which," she raised a sly eyebrow, "exactly where are you planning to go?"

He was becoming increasingly alarmed by Jun's perceptiveness. He'd just then decided he needed to get out of Tokyo. "I...haven't decided yet," he said slowly. "Maybe, maybe Kansai." Kansai, he knew, had its own Go Institute; it was an organization separate from the one he'd been a part of years ago.

Jun raised her other eyebrow. She looked at him in some astonishment. "Not Hokkaido?" she asked.

"Hokkaido?" Hikaru frowned at her, perplexed. Hokkaido was all the way in the north of Japan. "Why would I go there?"

"Surely, Akari-chan..." She let her sentence trail off delicately.

Akari was studying medicine right then at Hokkaido University. Todai had rejected her. Hikaru remembered because she'd come to him and cried into his shirt for nearly an hour. Then Hikaru remembered why she wasn't talking to him recently.

"No," he shook his head firmly, "I wouldn't go to Hokkaido for Akari."

"Oh." Jun stared at him now, honestly perplexed. "Then what the hell's got you so riled up about these few weeks?"

Hikaru stared down at the countertop. "I met someone – someone I thought I knew. But it didn't turn out the way I expected."

He heard a low whistle, and turned to see Jun looking at him consideringly. "You've been a busy boy," she remarked.

He looked away, feeling the darkening frown on his face. "It's not like that," he said harshly. Like he'd want to give Touya one more way to mess him up.

"Well," Jun clapped her hands on her thighs as she stood up, "I can't handle all you youngsters' relations. I'll leave it to the experts. Just be careful, whatever you do."

"Yeah.

"Jun." His call stopped the woman in the doorway of the kitchen. She turned to him curiously. "Was it just a set-up – that whole offer of your shop?"

An uncharacteristically wistful look came over her face then. "I meant what I said," Jun said quietly. "If you'd accepted, the shop would've been yours – and I would have no regrets."

Hikaru stared at her, feeling the heavy lump rise in his throat. He stepped off the stool and, before she could protest, jumped over the counter to grab her in a brief, hard hug. "Jun. Thanks." He squeezed her briefly in his arms, then quickly let go.

Jun frowned at him for his forwardness, patting back the few strands of hair that had escaped her chignon, but the delicate flush to her cheeks bespoke a different emotion. "Go on, now," she said roughly, "if you're leaving, I'm going to be looking for a replacement. And I'm busy enough as it is."

Hikaru laughed, and sketched a bow in her direction. "Aye, aye!"

Then he grabbed his jacket off the counter and strode out the shop without a backward glance.

* * *

"You're leaving?" 

Yuki stared at him from the open doorway of the foyer. Hikaru pushed past her, then dumped the box of things he was trashing outside on the sidewalk.

He grunted. "Yeah, I'm getting out of this hell hole." He walked back in to grab another box. He hadn't realized how much junk he'd accumulated over the years.

Huddled against the foyer wall, Yuki looked miserable and uncertain. "Why?" her voice trembled, going even higher than the usual falsetto she used. "Weren't you...happy?"

"Happy?" Hikaru snorted, not really seeing her over the big box in his arms. He dropped the box onto the sidewalk beside all the others. "I just realized I'm worth more than all this."

When he turned back, he caught the tail end of Yuki's heavy, winter boots disappearing around the corner. "...shit." He dropped down on one of the boxes, and ran a heavy hand over his bangs. Yuki always acted so tough, but for some reason, it was unbelievably easy for him to hurt her feelings.

Well, he shrugged to himself, she'll just have to get over it. Soon, he wouldn't be around much to bother her anyway.

With that thought in mind, he turned determinedly back to throwing away all the useless things that were weighing him down.

It was dark outside by the time he finished cleaning out his apartment. Standing at the doorway, Hikaru looked at the nearly empty room where he'd spent the past two years, and felt both tired and accomplished. Only an old backpack and a duffle bag lay on the floor, with some leftover clothes strewn around them. The day of packing had taken more out of him than all but the busiest day at the ramen shop, but Hikaru was already planning for what he should do next.

He had called the Kansai Go Institute from a payphone. They had never heard a case like his before, but he'd gotten an invitation to go over there and make a full argument in person. With the partial refund he had managed to talk out of his landlord, he had then bought an expensive, one-way ticket on an overnight train. The train was scheduled for Osaka that very night, and Hikaru wasn't at all worried. If the Kansai Go Institute would not have him, then there were institutes in Seoul and Beijing – he would find some way around the problem of him being a Japanese national. Meanwhile, there were even professional tournaments, like the Samsung Cup, that amateurs could enter.

And when his money ran out, he would work whatever menial jobs there were. He had his strength; he wouldn't give up, not this time.

_Sai_, he smiled, _sorry I made you worry all these years. I think – I think I'm finally ready to walk back on that path you left me._

His head felt clear, clearer than it had been since he was a boy...Clearest for the first time since his life had fallen disastrously apart. He had been unhappy for years, and he hadn't known it. Now, without regret, he swung the backpack and duffle bag onto his shoulders, prepared for a new start.

Only...

As he passed the bathroom counter, he hesitated. The cell phone was lying there on the tiles. It was as silent and turned off as it'd been since that evening at the Ritz, nearly a week ago now. He hadn't touched it.

For a moment Hikaru fought with himself, not wanting to take it but at the same time...unwilling to let it go. Then, abruptly, one part won and, with a noisy sigh, he snatched it from the countertop and stuffed it into the deepest, hidden recess of his backpack.

Hikaru suspected Touya Akira would always have this effect on him.

With no other thought, then, he put on his shoes and locked the door securely behind him.

* * *

_end_ of "**Winter**"

_continued_ in "**Spring**"


	2. Spring: Part 1

**Title**: Season of Black Chrysanthemums: Spring  
**Author**: corbeaun  
**Fandom**: Hikaru no Go  
**Disclaimer**: _Hikaru no Go_ belongs to Obata Takeshi and Hotta Yumi.

**A/N**: sequel to Winter

* * *

**Spring**

**Part 1**

_Tokyo_

He touched the skin of Ichikawa's bare back, tentative and ashamed. She was asleep now, her back to him. In an hour or so, she would wake and go from his bed, dress and then kiss him goodbye. The next morning, she would greet him in the office, a cup of tea and that day's schedule ready for him. And he would pretend that everything was as it was before. She had continued to serve as secretary to the head of the Touya-gumi admirably since he'd suddenly took the reins of power after his father's murder. Her role as his mistress was relatively recent. But she seemed so comfortable in the dual position that was suddenly thrust upon her...Akira forced himself not to wonder if she had done the same for his father. She would have been just a young college student when she first met Touya Kouyo, then the youngest_oyabun_ in the seven-thousand-member Sumiyoshi federation. Akira's mother had never mentioned otherwise or objected.

Just then, Ichikawa stirred in her sleep and rolled over, one arm falling over Akira's bare thighs. He grimaced; the contact was feverish, and uncomfortable, on his chilled skin. He sat up in the bed. Carefully, so he wouldn't wake her, Akira nudged her arm off him. She murmured restlessly in her sleep, but then shifted even closer to him. Feeling unaccountably aggravated, Akira pushed at her shoulder, trying as hard as possible to encourage her to roll away from him without actually waking her.

From experience, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep with her still in bed with him, and so he didn't try.

The moment of weakness that had landed him with her in this intimacy, he now gravely regretted. He would have liked to blame the champagne he'd imbibed, but Akira was man enough to admit which part had been the alcohol and which had simply been...him.

That New Year's night, after Shindo left, he had stayed in the hotel room, trying to feel satisfied. He had achieved what he had set out that evening to do – namely, show Shindo the world he was now a part of...the man he now was. Or rather, Akira had simply stopped trying to hide it. After all, surely even Shindo did not truly think a Sumiyoshi _oyabun_ would drive his own car and risk going to the same site week after week without a bodyguard or two.

But that night, standing there, after all that had been said and accepted...

All Akira had felt was the new year's chill and an all-encompassing loneliness.

So much so, that when Ichikawa came up to see him only a few hours after the elevator door closed behind Shindo, he had not resisted when she took one look at his face and instantly drew him into her arms. He remembered pressing his face to her neck. Somewhere, they kissed. What followed then was a haze of heat and desperation, ending with him in bed with one of the longest known acquaintances he had in his life. They had slept together several times since then, each time with her approaching him at night, when he felt that unvoiced desperation press down upon him most heavily.

Shindo hadn't called once.

When Akira finally called the cell he'd given Shindo, he'd received the newly recorded voice greeting:

"Hey. I'm getting out of Tokyo – actually, am on the train now. You needn't look out for me anymore. Thanks for the offer, but...I'll find a way back to the pros on my own. Maybe after I've settled down, you could come and visit. Heh. Still got those occasional games I promised you... Well. Later."

He had called one more time since then, a month after he'd confirmed that Shindo's place in Okobu was empty and let out. Akira didn't go himself, but had one of his men do it. The landlord didn't know where Shindo had gone. The recorded greeting on the cell remained the same however. Shindo either did not want him to know where he'd settled, or he had just forgotten. Akira sometimes did not know which reason was worse.

He continued to pay for the cell phone service, nonetheless.

He refused to do more than that, knowing how much danger his attention could get Shindo. Had already gotten him in.

Ohba's men had been seen wandering uncomfortably close to Shindo's old neighborhood in Okobu, before Touya had discretely sent word to his business friend whose territory that was. Upon whose words Touya had discovered that more than just Ohba had been sniffing around that particular quarter.

It was well that Shindo had left Tokyo when he did.

"Akira-kun?"

Akira looked down to see Ichikawa smiling up at him in amusement. Realizing he was running his fingers along her arm, he flushed and stopped.

"Don't stop," she told him. "Or," catching his hand, she placed it on her breast, "are you still shy?"

This was not a conversation he wanted to have. He jerked his hand away from her bare skin. "Ichikawa-san," he protested stiffly.

The woman in bed with him sighed then and sat up, the sheets pooling to her lap. "I would think we're past the point where you call me by surname, Akira," she muttered, swinging a leg onto the floor. She stood up and began pulling on her clothes.

Akira only protested stiffly, "Ichikawa-san." He knew he should try; it was one of the few personal things she'd asked of him. But there was just something wrong in calling her Harumi. He wasn't ready to think like that of someone his father had known and worked with.

Fully dressed, she touched her fingers to his chin and kissed him on the mouth. Akira let her. Ichikawa sighed as she pulled away. "You're a sweet boy, Akira-kun. And surprisingly naïve for who you are." She grabbed her purse from the dresser top. "But sometimes sex can be more than just comfort. Maybe one day you'll see that."

The bedroom door shut behind her. In the corridor, he heard a guard's voice bark out an inquiry, Ichikawa's short response, and the muffled apology. Then, silence.

In the morning, word would have spread through the Touya-gumi that he had Ichikawa Harumi over for the night again. There would be approval and admiration in the eyes of his guards and underlings – Ichikawa was a handsome, mature woman who by now was no outsider to the Japanese underworld, and it her. Being her patron could only increase Akira's standing in the eyes of his men and the members of the other factions in the Sumiyoshi alliance. In the male-dominated ranks of the Japanese underworld, a man without a girlfriend, wife, or mistress was held in some contempt. It didn't help that Akira was – as Shindo had commented more than once – pretty as a girl.

Ichikawa certainly knew what a help she was to his position. And she knew that he knew it. For all her talk of sex being more than just sex, she had a position she needed to secure, just as he did. It was difficult being a woman in the ranks of Japanese organized crime; her role as secretary to the Touya-gumi held considerable power – she was practically his second-in-command – and was viewed with some suspicion by the older _oyabun_ in the Sumiyoshi organization; the traditional role of mistress would prove more palatable to those hard-line conservatives. Akira tried hard not to begrudge her for it. He trusted her implicitly. Sometimes, he even considered her a friend.

Akira had learned to appreciate whatever friend he had.

Thinking of Shindo Hikaru, wherever he was, he rolled away from the side of the bed Ichikawa where had lain and tried to sleep.

But sleep was some time in coming.

* * *

_Osaka_

Metal rang against metal as the skeleton for the newest office building in peripheral Osaka was assembled beam by beam. The shrill beeping of a cement truck as it backed up cut through the low rumbling of the cranes.

"Ok...almost there. Watch it! Slowly now –" The foreman carefully directed the pouring of the cement.

A few yards away, the newest addition to the construction crew – one Shindo Hikaru – heaved multiple sand bags onto his shoulder and carried them over to the wall, where he dropped them. It was a small task that had fallen to him for the day, being the lowest man on the totem pole. Every now and then, he stopped for a breath and used a grimy hand to wipe off the sweat that had gathered on his brow between the edge of his hard helmet and his eyes.

The work was both mind-numbing and back-breaking. The physical aspect had lessened slightly after a few weeks of hard labor increased his muscle mass. But the mental aspect remained the same – a deadening monotony.

When the break bell rang, Hikaru greeted the call for lunch with a welcoming exhale. He tucked his hard hat under his arm and followed the other workers into the blocky trailer that served as their dining hall.

Working like this had given him an appetite that he hadn't had since he was in his teens. He quickly downed two bento boxes, one after the other. The men seated around him, by now used to this, ignored him and ate their own food slightly slower. The rowdy noise inside the trailer settled as the last of the workers streamed in and sat down for lunch.

"Hey, shrimp." A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. "We got an offer for ya."

Hikaru shrugged the hand off him, recognizing the lisping voice the crewmember. "Cut it out, Itoh." He laid his chopsticks down on the table, before turning around in his chair. "What do you want?"

Itoh looked annoyed at the wait, and jerked his thumb sharply at old Nose standing behind him. The two were notorious gamblers. "We heard you're some hot shot go player," he said grudgingly. "There's some parlors downtown; we could take you and split the winnings 60-40."

"Yeah?" Hikaru folded his arms in front of him. "Why'd I need you for that?" Actually, though he was always pressed for money, Hikaru had not even considered going to a _go_ parlor to scrounge up winnings. For one thing, it was crass; Sai would never have approved.

One of the men sitting next to him snorted at Itoh and Nose. "He just needs a map; you two would only waste air breathing." A few of the surrounding men roared in laughter.

No one respected lisping Itoh or old Nose. Even Hikaru, the newest man on the team, ranked higher in the eyes of the rest of the crew. The two men were always embroiled in one scheme or another. This was the first time the two had approached Hikaru, however.

"70-30," Itoh reluctantly amended his offer, while scowling at the laughing men. "But that's the final offer. You in or not?"

Hikaru grinned. "Nah, I'll pass."

Itoh flushed red. Old Nose seemed not to care.

"Fine," Itoh spat, "you can keep the winnings. We'll find someone else." He jerked a hand at Nose and together the two of them left for the other end of the trailer.

The same man who had snorted at the two gamblers slapped Hikaru on the back. "Don't listen to them, kid," he said, "They're trouble. Rumor is they're on the run from debt collectors. Yakuza and the like."

Hikaru thanked him for the advice, and turned back to finish his third bento.

That was the other reason. Even if he had been willing to play _go_ for betting money, Hikaru would have thought twice. All the _go_ parlors that allowed such disreputable dealings were connected in some way with the Japanese underworld. Hikaru had more than his share of contact with the yakuza, thanks to one Touya Akira. And he wasn't yet ready for Touya to find him. Knowing Touya, he was afraid the man would then find some outrageous way to convince him to go back to Tokyo and the Japanese Go Institute. Nothing beat Touya Akira on a mission. And Hikaru had no desire to be further in the other man's debt. All his instincts told him that would be perilous.

Later that night, in the crowded dormitory provided by the construction company, Hikaru stared at the planks of the bunk bed above him.

Itoh had mentioned an interesting point though. Osaka must have places where lovers of the game gathered to play go. The pros of the Kansai Go Institute did not qualify by exam, as was the case for the pros of the Japanese Go Institute headquartered in Tokyo; Kansai pros qualified by _insei_ game record. Luckily for Hikaru, he had obtained an exemption from the mandated _insei _age limit. He still needed to qualify for the _insei_ exam, however.

While Hikaru was waiting for the Kansai _insei_ exams to begin, he had found a job at a construction site – deadening as it was, construction work still paid much better than working at a ramen shop. Hikaru knew he needed to quickly save up money for when he became an _insei_ and couldn't afford to spend time working; he hadn't had the time or space since to practice go. But Hikaru thought it a good idea to go to a _go_ parlor and play regularly for the two months before the start of the exam. It was possible, now that he had built up stamina and wasn't falling dead asleep every time he touched the mattress.

Yeah, thought Hikaru, it would be a mistake to forget what he was doing all this for.

The very next day, during the break for lunch, Hikaru sought out a man who had been ignoring him ever since he joined the crew.

When Hikaru had first spotted him weeks ago in the trailer dining hall, Hikaru had been astonished, then delighted. The other man had a few gray hairs on his head, but his beard was as black as ever. Hikaru had known at a glance who it was. "Tsubaki-san!" he'd shouted. The other man had scowled at him.

"And who the hell are you?" His voice was still just as loud as ever.

"It's me, Shindo. Shindo Hikaru." Hikaru had grinned, undeterred. "How've you been?"

Tsubaki had stared at him, then grunted. "I don't know any such Shindo's," he'd replied. "The Shindo I know was a pro. So who the hell are you?" And with that, he'd turned his back on Hikaru and had steadfastly ignored him since.

Now, weeks later, Hikaru walked up behind the man and hailed him again. "Hey, Tsubaki-san," he said. The man's great back tensed, and Hikaru hurriedly continued, "Look, I was just wondering if you'd point out some good _go_ salons around here."

The sound of the man's chopsticks against the bento box paused. The men seated at the table around Tsubaki, similarly scruffy and bearded, pretended not to notice the interaction going on between him and Hikaru. Without turning around, Tsubaki replied gruffly, "There's some salons in Shinsekai, in south Osaka. One has a Tsume-Go on the sign, above a pachinko parlor."

Hikaru smiled. He knew he could count on him. "Thanks, Tsubaki-san."

The man said nothing, and only resumed eating.

That night, after changing out of his heavy work clothes and washing the grime from his body, Hikaru dressed for the trip to downtown Osaka. The spring air was still quite brisk and so as Hikaru left for the subway he grabbed a scarf. It was Akari's Christmas present to him, one of the few extraneous articles of clothing he'd brought in the duffle bag. He hadn't spoken to her yet about his new location, though he did leave a message with her roommate telling her he'd left the ramen shop and was going back to the pros. He felt uncomfortable talking to her again after her confession and his refusal a few months ago.

Now, standing in the moving train, Hikaru fingered the slightly skewed scarf she'd knitted for him, and decided he'd call her sometime soon. He knew his mother sometimes called Akari to find out about him.

Thinking of this, Hikaru stepped off the subway and onto Ebisucho Station. It was only a three-minute walk from there to the most destitute part of downtown Osaka, where Shinsekai was situated. Looking around, he saw a few seedy massage parlors and cinemas, and some _mahjong_ clubs. He listened for the familiar, noisy pinging that heralded the presence of a nearby pachinko parlor. It didn't take him long. But there was no sign of any _go_ salons, either above the pachinko parlor or beside it.

Hikaru frowned and looked around for help.

"Uh, excuse me, miss?" The tall shadow that had been loitering in the nearby alley of a club straightened and stepped into the lamplight. A closer look told Hikaru 'she' was no woman. He remembered Yuki, though, and politely continued to address the stranger as he had. "Is there a _go_ salon around here, miss? I'm looking for the one with a Go problem on the sign."

The transvestite sauntered over to him. "Why a _go _salon? Isn't that for old grandpas?" She smiled artfully at him, "You look like you're thirsty... Why don't I buy you a drink?" Hikaru swallowed and noted the choker that barely covered her prominent Adam's apple.

"Umm, th-thanks," he stammered, feeling the heat rise in his face, "but I just want to know where the _go_ salon is."

A few jeering catcalls came from the direction of the club. When Hikaru glanced over, he saw a few more unusually tall women spill out the doorway to stare and laugh at him.

The 'woman' in front of him sighed. "Are you sure, sweetheart?" she asked wistfully. "I can promise you a good time..." Hikaru shook his head determinedly. "Right." Then she shrugged. "Well, I know of a few _shogi_ and _mahjong_ clubs around here, but no _go_ salons that I know of."

Hikaru was bewildered. He looked around, as if by doing so would suddenly make the sign for what he wanted appear where it should. "That can't be right. Tsubaki-san said a _go_ salon, just above a pachinko parlor..." The neon sign above the nearby pachinko parlor blinked mockingly at him.

The stranger regarded him kindly. "Your friend may have played a joke on you. You wouldn't be the first who's come here this way." She winked at him, "But at least you were polite." She leaned in and slipped a piece of paper into his shirt pocket. "Call me if you ever change your mind."

He felt himself flush bright red, from forehead to collar, as she walked away swinging her hips to the sound of admiringly clapping hands coming from the open doorway of the club.

The next day, he stormed over to Tsubaki's lunch table and grabbed the large man by his shirt. The other man was laughing too hard to stop him. "How-how was the game, Sh-Shindo-pro?" Tsubaki gasped out between great bouts of laughter. "Was it, was it fun?"

"Damn it, Tsubaki-san!" Hikaru shouted. "I was serious!"

One of the large man's lunch companions grunted in amusement. "You sent him to that transvestite community in Shinsekai, huh, Tsubaki?" The other men around the table grinned. Obviously, this was an old joke among them.

Hikaru glared at them all. He yanked at his hold on Tsubaki's shirt. "I_need_ to talk to you."

The large, bearded man wiped a tear from his eye. "Yeah?" he grinned. "Well, make it quick."

Hikaru shook his head at the crowded dining hall. "Not here."

The other man looked suddenly serious. "After work then."

When Hikaru finally, at the end of the workday, walked over to the west side of the building where Tsubaki worked, the large man was already waiting for him. He was tossing a motorcycle helmet from one hand to the other. Seeing Hikaru approach, Tsubaki tossed the helmet over to him. "Here," he grunted, "we're going for a ride."

The motorcycle ride was bumpier and less sturdy than Hikaru remembered. It was, however, just as fast; he gripped onto the back of Tsubaki's leather jacket for dear life. The man kept yelling something from up front, but Hikaru couldn't pick out the words and only shouted back he couldn't hear. By the time they stopped and his foot touched cement again, he felt more than a little unsteady and wind-swept.

"Here we are," came Tsubaki's voice. "That place I mentioned."

Hikaru shook off the helmet and looked up to see above him the sign for a _go_ salon with the image of a classic Tsume-Go pattern. He solved it at a glance. Looking around, Hikaru could see they were somewhere in downtown Osaka, but nowhere near Shinsekai.

"Come on, you waiting for an invite?" Tsubaki shouted down from the stairs. Hikaru scowled, but quickly followed.

The_go_ salon was small but well-lit. For that late in the afternoon, it was surprisingly crowded; there was even a young girl playing on one of the boards. After paying the entry fee, Tsubaki chose an empty table in the corner. Hikaru also quickly paid the receptionist and took the seat opposite of the large man.

"Okay, kid." Tsubaki opened the _go_ stone containers, "Let's play a game."

Hikaru hesitated, then grabbed a handful of white stones from the container. "Don't you wanna know why I quit before?" Touya hadn't asked at first because he'd thought Hikaru was still a pro. When he'd found out, he'd stormed into Hikaru's workplace. Hikaru still remembered the look in his eyes.

The large man shrugged, and laid two stones on the board. "Nah. Your business."

Hikaru stared at him. "Then why did you ignore me for weeks? And send me to Shinsekai?"

Tsubaki looked at him as if it was obvious. "Well, I was pissed. You did promise you'd take care of my dream of being a pro." He rubbed his beard, "But I figure, if you're here now, it's because of the Kansai Go Institute. So that's fine." He bowed his head. "Please."

Hikaru bowed back, and muttered the traditional well wishes. He was so annoyed at the other man that he attacked only four hands into the game. But though Tsubaki was no Touya Akira, was not even at the level of Gokiso-pro, he was no weakling. The early offensive playing cost Hikaru a few points in territory solidity. But before the other man could fully take advantage of that weakness, Hikaru had handedly cut through Tsubaki's shape on the board and killed all hope of revival.

Five turns after Hikaru knew he'd won, the large man bowed his defeat with an admiring sigh.

"Well," Tsubaki leaned back in his chair and rubbed a hand through his graying hair, "you certainly haven't lost it all these years."

Hikaru frowned. The game had appeased much of his irritation with the other man, but Tsubaki's comment stung unintentionally. "Maybe not," he replied, "but I haven't been moving forward as fast as everyone else who stayed a pro." He carefully separated his white stones from the black ones, and poured them back into the container. "I'll need to work hard to catch up."

He looked up from the container to see Tsubaki staring at him thoughtfully. "I said it was no one's business but your own," the other man said, "But I am curious. It doesn't look like you stopped being serious about go."

Hikaru decided how much he should say. Unlike Touya, the other man wouldn't know about his connection to Sai. "My teacher...died," he admitted quietly. To Tsubaki, that was safe enough to reveal. "It was sudden. And before that, the person who had dragged me into the_go_ world – disappeared." _Touya, you bastard_, Hikaru swore. The familiar bitterness flooded his throat. He had finally admitted to himself that it was too late for Touya to come back to the world of the pros. But the decision to quit the pros in the first place and take his father's place in the ranks of organized crime...Hikaru hadn't forgotten.

He shrugged, forcefully. "But I'm fine now. And Kansai's a new start."

"Good!" Tsubaki's voice was loud and approving. His grinned stretched from behind his heavy, black beard. Reaching across the board, Tsubaki slapped Hikaru heartily on the shoulder. "Good, just keep playing. The _insei_ exams will be here in no time!"

"Is that you, Tsubaki?" A middle-aged man glared from across the room. "You're always too loud!"

Tsubaki looked threatening at the man. "What'd you say?" he demanded loudly, looming up from his chair. More disapproving heads turned in their direction. Hikaru laughed to himself, remembering those long ago days of the pro exams in Tokyo, and suddenly felt nostalgic.

"Tsubaki, Tsubaki," the old man, who was playing the girl beside them, chided. "Games are still going on here." The girl resigned just then, and pushed away her chair. "Who's your young friend?" he asked of Tsubaki, nodding at Hikaru.

Hikaru stood up and gave a short bow. "Shindo Hikaru," he answered, quickly, before the other man could reply for him. "Pleased to meet you."

Tsubaki laughed and stood up too. He walked over to Hikaru and affectionately slung an arm over Hikaru's shoulders. "Hey, Yoshikawa-sensei!" Tsubaki boomed, addressing the old man, "Shindo here could beat your prized student, what's-his-name Kiyoko, anytime."

Hikaru flushed in embarrassment and tried to get the man to let him go.

The old man frowned at Tsubaki. "Kiyoharu. Yashiro Kiyo_haru_," he emphasized. Then he sighed. "Please stop calling him Kiyoko when he comes here. It's rowdy enough as it is." He turned to Hikaru with an appraising eye. "So, you're good, huh?"

Hikaru had just managed to disengage himself from Tsubaki, and sheepishly, he raised a hand to the back of his head. "I'm not weak," he answered, as honest as he could.

In the background, Tsubaki gave an impatient snort.

A light gleamed in the old man's eyes. "Will you play a game against me?" he asked politely.

Hikaru shrugged, then grinned. "Sure," he replied. After all, this was what he had come here for. He cheerfully took the seat the girl had abandoned and pulled some stones out of the container. "Nigiri, please."

The old man, Yoshikawa-sensei, nodded. "Please."

Soon, the _pachi_ of stone upon goban pulled Hikaru into a familiar, beloved rhythm. The old man was surprisingly skilled. It was almost as if Sai was there again, as if the past six years had not happened and Touya Akira had never left... Then Hikaru sternly told himself to keep his mind on the game. He focused on the emerging, difficult shape beneath his hand and eventually the troublesome thoughts of his one-time rival vanished from his mind.

It was a good game.

* * *

end**Spring - Part 1**


	3. Spring: Part 2

**Title**: Season of Black Chrysanthemums: Spring  
**Author**: corbeaun  
**Fandom**: Hikaru no Go  
**Disclaimer**: _Hikaru no Go_ belongs to Obata Takeshi and Hotta Yumi.

**A/N**: sequel to Winter

* * *

**Spring**

**Part 2**

"Please wait, Kiyoharu-kun."

Yashiro Kiyoharu recognized his mentor's voice and stopped. It was early evening and the hallway of the Kansai Go Institute was nearly empty. "Yoshikawa-sensei," he bowed. He tried not to flush.

"You haven't been coming to the study group lately, Kiyoharu-kun," the old man said kindly. "Is everything alright at home?"

"I'm sorry, sensei," he replied, feeling ashamed. "It takes too long to get there by train from the school." He couldn't quite meet his mentor's eyes.

Yoshikawa-sensei's mouth tightened. "Hmm, how is university life?"

He refused to comment; he knew his mentor's position on this. "I only have two more years left."

The old man sighed. "Kiyoharu-kun, I've said this before. College is just a waste of time for a pro. Especially for you. It's been, what, two years now –" Kiyoharu flinched. "- and you're still fighting your way past 6-dan. You should live your own life, not your parents'."

"Sensei!" he protested in a low voice. They had been over this before.

Yoshikawa-sensei waved a hand tiredly. "Well, I'm not here to hash that out with you again. No, I came to tell you to come to my _go_ salon tomorrow."

"Why tomorrow?" He looked at his mentor curiously.

But Yoshikawa-sensei only smiled. "There's someone I want you to meet."

When Kiyoharu pushed past the glass doors of his mentor's _go_ salon the next afternoon, he found the place even more crowded than usual. "Hey, Yashiro!" a few of the regulars greeted him. He waved back, but his attention was focused on the man that seemed to be at the center of the commotion.

From the back, he looked like a workman, the muscles of his back bunching through his thin, well-worn shirt. The quilted jacket flung over the back of his chair looked like it had seen better days. He was seated before a go board, and he placed each stone with a sure, practiced hand.

It was Yoshikawa-sensei that was playing against him on the board. Upon seeing Kiyoharu, his mentor murmured something to the man seated before him and they stopped playing. "Ah, Kiyoharu-kun," Yoshikawa-sensei called out him, and gestured for him to come closer.

As he approached the table, the stranger turned and faced him. Kiyoharu had been expecting someone like that damned Tsubaki – all bearded and heavy-featured. It surprised him to see someone who couldn't have been much older than himself. The man was even clean-shaven. Clear, young eyes looked straight at him.

"Yashiro, right?" the man said. When he nodded, the man suddenly grinned. "So, why _does _Tsubaki-san call you Kiyoko?"

Kiyoharu scowled furiously. The explanation was simple: that damned Tsubaki had heard he was attending university despite himself for his parents' sake, and from then on had called him by a girl's name. Something to the effect of if he was going to be a little girl, might as well call him one.

"None of your business," he shot back.

The man raised his hands apologetically. "Sorry, sorry." But a smile still lingered in his voice.

From beside them, he heard Yoshikawa-sensei sigh. "Kiyoharu-kun, this is Shindo Hikaru. Shindo, this is Yashiro Kiyoharu."

"Nice to meet you," Kiyoharu grumbled.

Shindo grinned, unrepentant. "Same here."

His mentor's eyes warned him to behave. "I called you in today," he explained, "so you could have an even match with Shindo here. He says he needs practice."

Yashiro Kiyoharu looked at his sensei in some disbelief. He had been Japan's first-board in the international Hokuto Cup tournament for the one year it'd been sponsored – was the most promising _go_ player to have come out of the Kansai Go Institute in_ decades_, as Yoshikawa-sensei himself had often said – despite Kiyoharu being currently stuck at 6-dan. Who was Shindo? "Him?" he retorted. He turned to the stranger. "You a pro?"

The sudden change in expression that came over the man's face took him aback. The eyes that had been light-humored before narrowed; the intensity in them frightened. "No." There was no trace of laughter in his voice when he replied. "The only evidence of my strength is in my _go_."

"Shindo is planning to take the _insei_ exam in a few months," his mentor explained. "In the meantime, I told him you would be happy to play him."

Kiyoharu stared at his mentor in disbelief. "Sensei!" he protested.

A raised hand forestalled his further protests. Yoshikawa-sensei looked at him so sternly that he flushed in embarrassment. "You need not come to my study group, Yashiro Kiyoharu. But instead, you will play Shindo at least once a week. I trust that will not take too much time from your economics classes?" his mentor added somewhat dryly.

He could only shake his head. "Fine," he kept his voice strictly flat. He turned to Shindo. "When do you want to play?"

The other man shrugged. "How about now?"

"Fine." He threw himself into an empty chair before a _go_ board, and grabbed a handful of stones. "Nigiri."

Shindo put some stones on the board. "I'm white," he said and exchanged _go_ containers with him. They bowed to each other. "Please."

"Please," he repeated.

Feeling irate and contrary, Kiyoharu played a first hand at _tengen_ – the centermost point of the board. Shindo only raised an eyebrow and then grinned. "Cocky little bastard," Kiyoharu heard him mutter. Then the man unhesitatingly played a return hand at 5-5, moving in to capture the upper corners and surround him.

The battle that followed was swift and violent. And conclusive.

An indeterminable time later, ire long forgotten, Kiyoharu leaned tensely over the table, about to place a stone on the board, when he abruptly realized – There was no point that would work.

Slowly, his hand lowered back to the _go_ stone container. The play on the board before him was painfully obvious – the difference in skill was clearly in the other man's favor. There was a gap in the depth of play between him and Shindo Hikaru that he could not surmount. Not in this game.

"I...have nothing," he whispered. The words were humiliation and burned in his mouth.

Shindo's voice was calm. "Thank you for the game. Would you like to discuss it?" The crowd around them murmured appreciatively.

Kiyoharu ignored that question and the spectators. "Shindo," he said quietly, "the Japanese Go Institute is in Tokyo. Why are you here – and now already a pro?"

The black and white stones on the board before him were glaringly obvious – like letters lasered in black ink on white paper. Shindo's Edo accent was one of the other things that stood out. He looked up to see Shindo staring at him in surprise from across the board. Then the surprise transformed into another – angry? – expression.

"It's a long story," the other man said firmly, meaning he wouldn't say. "But wanting to be a pro is why I'm here now in Kansai."

He waited until the crowd around their table had dispersed a little, then asked, "What are you doing now?"

Shindo shrugged carelessly. He carefully separated his white stones from the black. "This and that. Right now I'm at a construction company with Tsubaki-san. "

"And..." He hesitated, but then decided to ask anyway, "...Your parents don't mind?"

The other man looked at him in genuine surprise. "What do they have anything to do with it?"

Kiyoharu felt flushed and ashamed. But he persisted nonetheless. "Don't they object – you not being in school, not getting a normal job?"

"Oh. That." Shindo shrugged, put the lid over the container of stones. "We went over that when I told them I wasn't going to college. Got kicked out." He sounded remarkably matter-of-fact about it.

"Oh."

"That was nearly three years ago. I haven't talked to them since, except for New Year's Cards."

"Oh," Kiyoharu said, even weaker.

Shindo frowned at him. "You having problems with your parents, Yashiro?"

He stared down at the cleared _go_ board. "Maybe," he muttered.

"Well, just move out."

"Can't," he insisted darkly. "They'll never acknowledge me if I do."

There was a pause. Then, "Why do you play?"

"What?" Those distressingly familiar words startled Kiyoharu into looking up, coming as it did on the heels of another ignominious defeat. He stared. But Shindo Hikaru looked nothing like Ko Yongha.

Shindo shrugged and stood up. "Just decide how important that is to you." He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. "Same time next week?"

Kiyoharu nodded mutely.

The other man waved a casual goodbye and pushed past the salon door. Kiyoharu finally looked away from the exit when he felt Yoshikawa-sensei's sharp eyes on him. He was beginning to understand exactly why the wily, old man had insisted he meet with Shindo Hikaru for the next few months. Shindo Hikaru's skill and, most of all, his assurance was frightening and envy inspiring.

He didn't go back to his dorm that night.

Instead, he took a taxi back to his parents' house. The windows were dark when he arrived – Kiyoharu checked twice to make sure – and he quietly unlocked the door with the spare key he'd secretly kept. There was no noise in the house, and he avoided the squeaky boards on the stairs on the way to his room with the ease of long practice. Once inside, he closed the door carefully behind him and looked around at his old bedroom. Even in the dim moonlight, he could see the telltale tidiness that told him that his mother had just cleaned. Any _kifu_ he'd left lying around the last time he'd stayed were now gone, trashed most likely.

Feeling that familiar tightening in his throat, Kiyoharu stopped looking and knelt at the foot of his desk. Taking a key from his pocket, he unlocked the last drawer. Inside were all the _go_-related things he'd kept, but didn't take with him to school and didn't want thrown away. Without searching, he reached inside and pulled out an old issue of Weekly Go.

The inside story showed a picture of him standing with the second and third-board for the Hokuto Cup. The light from the outside streetlight was too dim for him to read the words of the article, but he could see just fine the grim expressions on the three Japanese representatives. It was a picture taken at the end of the only international tournament he'd been a part of. He didn't need to read the words of the article to know what the header said. "Japan beaten 3-0 by both China and Korea," he murmured to himself.

He remembered playing against the likes of Ko Yongha, and feeling the great, insurmountable wall before him. Just like today.

"What do you play for?" The only words the Korean first-board had said to him.

At the time, Kiyoharu had no answer. It had been an ignominious defeat by Team Korea. The Korean third-board, Hon Suyon, who'd translated, had only looked at him pityingly as he repeated Ko Yongha's question to him. But the dismissive way Ko Yongha had then turned and walked away told Yashiro Kiyoharu that he had not really sought an answer to his question. Not too far off, the manager of the Chinese team had laughed and said something in Mandarin that Kiyoharu had long since learned: "Another easy win from Team Japan!"

In the darkness of his room, Yashiro Kiyoharu crumbled the article in his hands.

Time and distance did nothing to dim the bitterness he still felt at the knowledge he wasn't good enough. What use is it to be considered the best and most promising, he thought, if the best is only in_go_-stagnant Japan?

Feeling tired and depressed, he tossed the article aside and climbed into his old bed without bothering to take off his clothes. He wasn't able to fall asleep. When morning came and he heard the household stirring, he kept himself carefully quiet. The last thing he needed while he felt like this was an encounter with his father or mother. They might finally convince him to give up _go_.

Kiyoharu desperately needed some of Shindo Hikaru's intensity. That unshakable, bolstering conviction.

Curled on into himself within the blanket, listening to the bustle of his mother downstairs in the kitchen as she prepared breakfast for his father, Yashiro Kiyoharu counted the minutes until he could leave the house undetected.

* * *

_end_ of "Spring - Part 2" 


	4. Spring: Part 3

**Title**: Season of Black Chrysanthemums: Spring  
**Author**: corbeaun  
**Fandom**: Hikaru no Go  
**Disclaimer**: _Hikaru no Go_ belongs to Obata Takeshi and Hotta Yumi.

**A/N**: sequel to Winter

* * *

**Spring**

**Part 3**

"What the hell?"

Hikaru stared in shock as he took in the mess that was his corner of the dorm. His heavy work-boots thumped to a stop before his bed.

Grid-lined papers had been tossed aside onto the bed, and the backpack at the foot of the mattress was open – empty. He dashed to it, throwing open the zipper the rest of the way and looked inside. But it was no use; his first impression had been correct. The goban that his grandfather had given him all those years ago and that he had stored in between old recorded matches with Sai...was indeed gone. And worst of all, the thieves had also found the hidden pocket.

Touya Akira's cell phone was also missing.

A hand landed heavily on his shoulder. "Shindo. What's all this?"

"They took everything," he heard himself say, dully. He didn't look up from the empty backpack.

The hand tightened around his arm and shook him, hard. "Hey. Hang in there, kid. I'm getting the manager, alright?"

Hikaru shook off Tsubaki's hand, and sat down on the edge of his bed. Other men were entering the dormitory now, and he heard the sudden drop in conversation as they saw his ransacked corner. Unable to deal with their pity or, worse, their derision, he resolutely began to pick up the tossed aside _kifu_ and stuff them into the backpack. There was also some socks flung about, but the duffle bag at the head of the mattress had been mostly left alone once the thieves had discovered it only contained old clothes.

Then suddenly, from behind, he heard the sounds of violent swearing and of someone being dragged against their will. Hikaru paused, then turned away from his bed and towards the dormitory entrance. It was old Nose, not at all wearing his usual apathy as Tsubaki twisted his arms behind him and he was frog-marched towards Hikaru. One of Tsubaki's friends followed close behind, a black trash bag dangling from his hand.

Tsubaki tossed Nose onto the floor at Hikaru's feet. "Didn't see the manager. But look what I found instead."

The large, burly friend opened the bag and spilled its contents onto the floor beside Itoh's usually silent partner. Straight-back razors, a watch, a few mid-priced cologne bottles, a pair of cufflinks.

And a cell phone. Hikaru picked it up. It was his.

A hard, tense knot at the base of his stomach abruptly unclenched.

Only then did he notice the low, angry rumbling that had begun to sound from the on-looking men. "I thought I lost my watch," someone growled. Others commented on articles they had also thought misplaced. The crowd around old Nase closed in. Nose had stopped swearing and was starting to look extremely nervous.

"Hey, hey!" He raised his hands pleadingly. "It wasn't me. Itoh tricked me too, you guys. He's cut out and palmed all this on me."

Tsubaki blocked the man's path to the door. "Shindo must have pissed you off good, huh. And you got careless. You and that weasel Itoh both. Come on, Shindo," he gestured to Hikaru. "Let the other guys talk to Nose for a while." He pulled Hikaru away from the crowd and out the dorm.

On the stairs, Hikaru suddenly grabbed Tsubaki by the arm. He couldn't believe he had momentarily forgotten. "The goban!" he half-shouted. "Did you find the goban?"

The large man frowned. "What was there was in the bag. Itoh might have already pawned it." At the misery Hikaru couldn't help but show on his face when he heard those words, Tsubaki grunted, "But we can ask around the nearby shops and see if it's there."

But in the end, after hours of looking into numerous pawnshops – with Tsubaki pounding on the doors until someone came out – there was nothing.

They were walking out of yet another dead end, and the night sky was getting progressively lighter. They would need to be at work in a few hours. Hikaru put a hand on the handle of Tsubaki's motorcycle, stopping the man's terse explanation of where they were headed next. "Hey, Tsubaki," he said quietly. "Let's stop now." The large man looked uncomfortable, obviously wanting to end the search but not wanting to admit it. "Hey, it's okay," Hikaru assured him, and smiled to show he meant it.

The other man only looked at him, then patted him brusquely on the back. Then he drove them both back to the company dorms, not saying a word the entire route.

And it really was okay, Hikaru finally decided in the days that followed. Itoh had never been found, but old Nose had had to answer for his mistakes. At the least, neither was going to be bothering Hikaru for a while.

Then only a few mornings after the incident, Hikaru found a black _go_ stone wedged between his mattress and the wall. It was of good, heavyweight glass. The slick, familiar curve of it between his fingers brought back all the times he had played against Sai. "It's just an object," he told himself fiercely. He remembered all the games Sai had played, was fighting hard to be a professional go player again, and that was what was important.

Yet somehow, he still found himself carrying that stone in his pocket wherever he went.

The cell phone he had rolled inside a tube of socks and hidden in the duffle bag.

Of the two, the cell phone bothered him more. And in a different way.

Hikaru would be the first to admit reflection was not his strong point – Akari would gladly attest to that all the way north in Sapporo. But he couldn't ignore that devastating drop in his gut when he had discovered that the only way to contact his one-time rival in_go_ was gone. And when he finally had that cell phone back in his hands again, how the relief had nearly overwhelmed him and he had nearly forgotten that the goban he had played Sai on was still missing.

Hikaru had to be honest to himself.

There was no point of keeping the cell phone unless he intended to call Touya with it. And Hikaru realized that at the very least, he needed to tell the other man that everything was on track and that he was on the definite road to being a pro again. He had also promised Touya a few games.

Playing against Yashiro almost every other afternoon was, lately, making Hikaru unaccountably antsy.

So now, all Hikaru was looking for was an excuse to call Touya and make good on that promise.

The chance came sooner than expected.

* * *

Tsubaki looked up from the card game when Hikaru came in and sat down on a nearby bunk bed. 

After that debacle with old Nose, the other man had insisted Hikaru switch to an empty spot closer to his own in the company dormitory. Hikaru, not really caring one way or another, had complied. He usually only slept a few hours in the dorms anyway – most of his after-work hours were spent in Osaka's downtown go salons. And now he knew to hide his valuables better.

"Hey," Tsubaki frowned, "Shouldn't you be thrashing Kiyoko around this time?" Tsubaki had been uncommonly gleeful ever since Hikaru had started to play Yashiro regularly, and beat him just as often.

Hikaru shrugged. "He said he couldn't stay long. Some exam tomorrow or something." He crawled onto his bunk bed and reached for the duffle bag he used as a pillow. From behind him he heard Tsubaki snort derisively: Hikaru had since learned that Tsubaki didn't exactly hold Yashiro's decision to continue college in high esteem. Then the rest of the men in the card game called impatiently for Tsubaki to put his mind back to the cards, and there was no further response from that corner.

Left to himself finally, Hikaru unzipped the duffle bag and, after hesitating only briefly, reached inside a roll of socks and took out the small, slim cell phone. His fingers clenched involuntarily around the slick plastic, before he quickly palmed it. Hikaru glanced around the crowded dormitory, but it seemed no one was paying him any attention. He climbed out from his bunk bed and walked out of the room. A shout went up behind him as someone folded in the card game. The noise became muffled and then faded altogether as Hikaru descended the stairs and exited the building. Outside, the nighttime air still stung with the chill of Osaka in springtime. There was no one on the deserted streets, the company dormitory being based on the far-off fringes of the ever-expanding city.

Hikaru walked into a small, nearby alley. Only then did he take his hand out of his jacket pocket and flip open the cell phone. He wasn't at all surprised to see it was still in service, but he was relieved nonetheless.

Actually, that excuse about Yashiro had only been a half-truth. Despite his upcoming exam, the other man had offered to stay for another game, been eager to, in matter of fact. But Hikaru had declined. His mind hadn't been on the game, not since he'd caught a news report from Tokyo when he'd passed some televisions in the front of an electronics store while on his way to the go salon.

He had been late to the match with Yashiro, because he had stayed, pressed against the store's showcase window as – from the screens of a row of brand-new TVs – the perfectly-coiffed reporter accounted the recent events in Tokyo, while police in riot gear lined up behind her. Opposite the police, grim-faced and dark-suited men stood stoically as they waited to attend the funeral of a suddenly slain prominent yakuza boss. The white ribbons pinned to their suit jackets defiantly told the world of their grieving. Hikaru had looked; he didn't see Touya Akira.

Now huddled against the alley wall, he waited.

The cell phone rang twice before he heard it picked up. "Touya," he said instantly.

A woman's voice answered. "Who is this?"

For a moment, Hikaru gaped wordlessly. He felt a strange sensation in his stomach, as if he'd eaten one too many bowls of ramen. He swallowed. "I...It's Shindo. Touya – he gave me this number."

There was a pause. Then the woman said coolly, "Please hold."

In the background, Hikaru heard the rustling of cloth, and a few low, indecipherable murmurs. Standing there in the tiny alley, huddled against the nighttime chill, Hikaru felt unaccountably flushed. It was obvious that he had interrupted a night-time rendezvous between Touya and this...woman.

It made his head ache. Really, _Touya_? he thought incredulously. It didn't seem...possible.

But just then, Touya's voice came to the phone. "Shindo?" That was his voice alright.

"Hey, Touya," he said stiffly.

There was an awkward silence on the phone. Then –

"How've you –"

"Where are you –"

They both stopped. Then Touya's voice came politely from the speaker. "You go first, Shindo."

"Yeah, well, it's nothing really." Even though he knew Touya couldn't see him, he shrugged. He forced his voice to be casual. "Just saw a report over where you are, thought I'd see if you're okay."

"You mean the...funeral?" When Hikaru grunted an affirmative, Touya answered, "The men that were involved are not part of my...federation." His voice sounded slightly amused. "Although the event may give me and my business friends an advantage." But he didn't elucidate, sensing perhaps that Hikaru really did not want to know. There was a short pause. "Where are you now, Shindo?"

"Somewhere in Osaka."

"I see." He knew Touya was thinking of the Kansai Go Institute, just as he was. "And...everything is going well?"

"Fine. Found someone to play against." Hikaru wasn't exactly sure why he was speaking about Yashiro to Touya, but he continued anyway. He heard the small satisfaction in his own voice. "He's strong, and he's helping me prepare for the insei exam."

"That's...good." The hesitation in Touya's voice was unlike him, like he couldn't decide on the right word.

"Yeah," Hikaru said determinedly. He glanced down at his wristwatch, saw it was a quarter past eleven. He needed to get up at five the next morning. "Look," he said, feeling unaccountably relieved, "I gotta go."

"Shindo, wait!"

"...what?" he answered reluctantly.

"Tell me where you are. You still owe me some games."

Hikaru felt his heart stutter. "You're coming to Osaka?"

"I have business to take care of there. I'll be in Osaka in a few days. So just give me a meeting place."

For a moment, Hikaru was silent as he considered. He was reluctant to bring a yakuza-connected Touya Akira into Yoshikawa-sensei's go salon. He owed the old man too much to do that to him. 'Business', yeah, right; Hikaru really didn't want to know what 'business' Touya was involved in now.

"Let's meet at the Kani Doraku Crab," he said finally. The six and a half meter mechanical crab in front of the seafood restaurant was one of the most famous landmarks in Osaka, and was hard to miss. Besides, Hikaru figured he might as well get another free meal out of the other man.

Touya seemed to know his thoughts. "I take it that crab will be on the menu?" Hikaru heard the slight smile in his voice. "Though I'd expected you to go for the Kinryu Ramen."

"Nah," Hikaru grinned. Though he had been tempted. "Crab is more expensive."

"And I'm paying," Touya rightly concluded.

Hikaru replied brightly, "Hey, thanks for offering."

He heard an exasperated exhale on the other side of the phone. Then, quietly, "Shindo, I'm glad you called."

"Yeah." He cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable. "Look, I really gotta go. You have my number. Talk to you later." And he quickly cut off the connection before Touya could say anything else.

He almost expected the phone to ring back immediately. But the bit of plastic remained quiet in his hand. For a brief moment, Hikaru felt irrationally disappointed. Then he shrugged, turned the cell phone off and forced it back into his jacket pocket. When he climbed back up the stairs to the dormitory, he found the card game still going on raucously. No one, not even Tsubaki, seemed to have noticed his brief absence. He climbed onto his bunk bed and slipped the cell phone back into the tube of socks in the duffle bag.

With everything safely put away, Hikaru lay down on the mattress and fell fast asleep.

* * *

Ichikawa Harumi studied Akira as he spoke on the phone. Looking at him, she was suddenly reminded of how young he was. When she was his age, she had been working for his father for just under a year. In contrast, in a few months' time, Touya Akira would have nominally been the head of the 800-member Touya-gumi for exactly seven years. 

"You have business in Osaka in a few days?" she said, when the phone conversation ended. She kept her voice casual. "I didn't know that." Which she should, being his secretary and, for all practical purposes, his second-in-command.

Akira's voice was firm and unashamed. "Yes."

She didn't look at him, and instead started dressing. This was not a conversation she wanted to have while still naked and in bed with her young boss.

"This is an interesting development." She snagged her bra from the top of the mussed coverlets. "In a few days you're supposed to meet with Ohba to renegotiate the Nagasaki deal." She calmly fastened her undergarment and put on her blouse. "He'll have bigger expectations, now that one of the Yamaguchi is dead." Nothing she was saying should be any surprise to Akira.

In fact, 'bigger expectations' was an understatement – Ohba would certainly be looking to renege on the deal altogether.

Thanks to that surprising little show on New Year's Eve, Akira had secured the other _oyabun_'s promise to return to him a certain property in Macau in exchange for simply introducing Ohba to some friends in Korea. Under the leadership of Akira's late father, the Touya-gumi had been slowly establishing connections outside Japan. The casino in Macau had been one of the prizes that had been split to the other Sumiyoshi _oyabun_ in the brief period of confusion between Touya Kouyo's murder and Touya Akira's succession. From what rumors had reached her at the top of the Touya-gumi, however, it seemed that the place was bringing more trouble than its worth to Ohba: the local Chinese Triad had allowed the casino to Touya Kouyo and did not appreciate the new foreign interloper. But Ohba was not a man to give away anything that was remotely of value.

Ichikawa Harumi had counted on that.

But somehow, at the very last minute, Akira had ducked out of having to arrange the complete transfer of narcotics for Ohba.

Ohba had been tricked into parting with the casino for a mere pittance – the names of certain movers in the Korean underworld. And the other _oyabun_ had had to settle for that: no other group in the Sumiyoshi federation had the extensive foreign contacts that the Touya-gumi had cultivated as a legacy of Akira's late father. And at any other time, a Sumiyoshi _oyabun_ going outside the Sumiyoshi federation for contacts would have been foolish and useless to the extreme. Most Japanese crime syndicates were not known for their cooperative nature.

But now that one of the four top _shatei_ - or "younger brothers" – to the Yamaguchi godfather was dead, the tight, pyramidal hierarchy of Japan's largest crime organization would prove its weakness. It was an unfortunate limitation of the Yamaguchi-gumi that came to light whenever something happened to anyone high enough in its rigid, feudal hierarchy. In the current case, the murdered _shatei_ had been the prime mover of the drug trade in that organization; with him gone so suddenly, it would take a while for the Yamaguchi godfather to appoint someone new. In the meantime, there would be certain chaos on the streets among the petty dealers. Enough for an ambitious _oyabun_ from a more modern and less hierarchical organization to take advantage of. And Ohba had always looked to make a name for himself.

"In any case," she concluded, getting out of bed and tugging on her skirt, "I still say we should move the drugs for him, and take a share of the profits. Expansion is a good idea, after all."

When she turned around fully dressed, she caught Akira looking thoughtfully at her. The cell phone he still cradled in his hand. "If you're worried about the negotiations tomorrow, Ichikawa-san," he replied, "you shouldn't be. I already made agreements with the other Sumiyoshi _oyabun_: no one wants a potential turf war between the Yamaguchi and us. If it becomes a problem –" Akira's eyes were clear and straightforward, "we will eliminate it." He paused, and then he smiled slightly. "So whatever happens tomorrow, the result will be in my favor."

She stared at the boy. He looked guileless as usual, even as for the first time he spoke of cold, premeditated murder.

She had forgotten how ruthless all the Touya men could get, especially when they truly wanted something. The Macau casino had been a sore point of contention between Akira and Ohba ever since Akira took over the Touya-gumi. And since that party at New Year's Eve, Akira seemed to have developed an even greater enmity for the other man. She almost felt sorry for Ohba.

But there was another pressing concern on her mind.

"When did you and the others come to this agreement?" she asked slowly. She should not have had to ask.

Naked, and with only a bed sheet covering his lap, Akira somehow managed to look both composed and professional. "I apologize, Ichikawa-san, I meant to tell you tonight." The tone was not at all pointed, but she flushed nonetheless: it was she who had grabbed him as soon as the bedroom door closed. "The conference was brief and over the phone."

Standing in the darkness of the bedroom, she looked at him closely. He spoke as if he never intended to hide any of his doings from her.

Lately, it had been disturbing her how easily Akira was managing the affairs of the Touya-gumi on his own. Before, he often left things to her. In the heavily male-dominated world of the yakuza, whatever power a woman like her amassed had to be cloaked in the more traditional feminine roles of prostitute, mistress, or wife. There were certainly some women _oyabun_, but they never openly showed their hands; in her position as secretary, Ichikawa Harumi had been as blatant as possible. It helped that the nominal successor of the Touya-gumi had, until now, hung back from handling the ostentatiously criminal aspects of his role. But ever since winter – ever since she'd started sleeping with him in fact – Akira hadn't really relied on her.

And bedding him had seemed like such a good idea at the time.

Akira was regarding her now with a concerned frown on his face. His cheeks were still unshadowed and boyishly smooth, even at this late hour of the night. He had inherited his mother's fair skin and dark, heavy eyelashes. Harumi had always had a weakness for a pretty face.

It was too bad that lovely, gentle-spoken Touya Akiko had been with her husband when the assassination occurred.

"Ichikawa-san?" he asked cautiously.

Moving swiftly, she crossed over to his side of the bed and took his chin in her hand. She kept the kiss short and almost chaste. "You have an early morning tomorrow, Akira-kun," she smiled. "I'll let you rest."

Akira didn't protest, and seemed almost relieved to let her go. As she walked out and closed the bedroom door behind her, Harumi brooded over this continual ambivalence of Akira's towards sex. If she could only figure out why...

Their current arrangement was extremely unbeneficial to her. So far, the only exploitable sentimentality from the arrangement was...hers.

She truly liked Akira and, if circumstances had been different, she suspected she would have gladly played the role of the adoring older sister – who occasionally had more than sisterly thoughts.

But she had a position to secure, and, apparently now, not enough time to do it. It won't be long before Akira tried to go over her head again, like he had today. And she would lose her authority all too easily, once that started. Ichikawa Harumi had no intention of being reduced to being only a yakuza's mistress – no matter how pretty the face.

As her chauffeured car took her out of the sprawling Meijiro mansion that Akira had kept after the death of his father, she suddenly recalled where she had heard the name Shindo before.

"Of course," she murmured to herself.

_Shindo Hikaru?_ she had greeted that young man with at the New Year's Eve party.

It had been disturbing how much trust Akira had placed in him. After that surprising upset for Ohba, she had even sent a few of her loyal and, more importantly, discrete men to follow Shindo Hikaru after he left the hotel. At first meeting him, though, she had been nearly certain of Ohba's victory in his little bet. The young man had looked more like a busboy than someone who knew how to handle a goban; she hadn't even heard Akira speak of him before that night. But it made sense, if Akira and Shindo had known each other beforehand – most likely from Akira's days as a young professional go player.

And hadn't Akira and Shindo vanished together, right before midnight? In fact, now that she considered it, that night was also the first and only time Akira had grabbed her and initiated the sex.

It certainly cast a new light on Akira's ambivalence of his relationship with her.

You should have considered this sooner, she told herself. But she hadn't, not until she heard Akira's tone of voice over the phone as he spoke to his...friend.

Well, at least this was a development she could work with.

"Is something the matter, boss?" her driver asked.

She realized she was chuckling quietly, and stopped. "No," she assured the burly man in front. "Everything is fine."

Indeed, everything needed only a few necessary adjustments.

Outside the darkened car windows, the city of neon-lit Tokyo flashed by. Ichikawa Harumi leaned into the back seat and enjoyed the ride back to her private, penthouse apartment.

* * *

_end_ of "Spring - Part 3" 


	5. Spring: Part 4

**Title**: Season of Black Chrysanthemums: Spring  
**Author**: corbeaun  
**Fandom**: Hikaru no Go  
**Disclaimer**: _Hikaru no Go_ belongs to Obata Takeshi and Hotta Yumi.

**Summary**: In which Akira has issues with Yashiro...and let's everyone know it. And part of Icchan's scheme is revealed.

* * *

**Spring**

**Part 4**

"Dude, what's gotten into you?"

Hikaru looked up to see Yashiro staring at him disgruntled. Yashiro scowled pointedly at the board between them. Hikaru looked back down and realized he'd just inadvertently killed his own cluster in the upper rightmost corner. He winced, and put a hand sheepishly to the back of his head. "Eh, sorry. If you want," Hikaru offered reluctantly, "I'll stay for an extra game."

He was loath to, though, since it was already late and he still needed to get up at dawn the next morning. He'd pressed the foreman for a heavier workload: a professional tournament applicable to amateurs was coming up and he wouldn't be able to work for money then. And of course, there was the upcoming insei exam. In consequence, lately, sleep held more appeal than go with Yashiro.

Yashiro heaved a sigh, and shoved a hand through his spiked hair. He sat back in the go salon's chair. "It's not just this one game. You've been this way this whole freaking week."

Tired and pressed, Hikaru felt himself getting irritated. Touya, he was suddenly reminded, was coming in two days. "Look, college-boy," he snapped, "I've got other things going on."

Yashiro's eyes narrowed at the dig, but he did not immediately respond to the implied criticism. Instead, he began sweeping his stones back into their container, clearing the game midway. "You were the one who talked about nothing getting in the way of the game," he retorted.

Hikaru scowled guiltily. His focus had been completely shot for the past few days; he knew Yashiro must have been frustrated – it was a minor miracle that the other man hadn't complained before now. Still, even knowing this did not make it easy for him to reign in his temper. "My concentration's off," he conceded grudgingly. "But I'll be kicking your ass again across the goban before you know it," he promised.

For a moment, the other man stopped sorting the stones. Then he smirked. He put away the last of his stones and firmly closed the container lid. "How about a rematch, this Sunday?" he challenged.

"Can't." Hikaru swept the remaining stones on the board into his own container.

Yashiro's smirk faded. "Why? You scared?"

Hikaru glared at the man. He was really getting on Hikaru's nerves today. "Got work," he replied shortly. The very last thing he wanted to explain to Yashiro was Touya Akira. Hikaru felt a headache coming just thinking about it.

Yashiro's eyes narrowed. "The whole day?" he said, suspicious. Unfortunately, the other man knew Hikaru's schedule: the day after tomorrow was Sunday, the one day in the week that Hikaru had off. Usually, Hikaru was more than glad to spend that entire day at Yoshikawa-sensei's go salon

"Just like I said," Hikaru repeated firmly, "Work." He pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. "See you next week."

He left Yashiro scowling behind him.

Lately, the other man had been demanding more and more of his time. Whenever Hikaru visited Yoshikawa-sensei's go salon lately, Yashiro was there, waiting for him. It made Hikaru a little uncomfortable.

Yashiro had never given Hikaru a reply to that question on why he played go, but it seemed that something had lit a fire under him. And it wasn't just his recent inability to concentrate that let Yashiro control the flow of stones on the goban. Not too long ago, Yashiro's mentor had approached Hikaru and solemnly thanked him for helping Yashiro's long-awaited rise to 7-dan. Hikaru had dismissed the thanks; he had done nothing really. All Yashiro had needed was a reminder of why he was a pro in the first place. Hikaru reminded himself every time he touched the old go stone in his pocket – he only wished Yashiro would stop using _him_ as his personal go memento.

Which made his recent inability to concentrate on the board all the more frustrating.

Back in the company dormitory, Hikaru sat down heavily on his bunk bed. It was late enough that even the card players had dispersed and gone to sleep. In the darkness, Tsubaki's familiar, rumbling snores sounded from one of the nearby beds. Toeing off his sneakers, Hikaru climbed into his own bed fully dressed; it meant less time to get ready in the morning. With the discipline of long practice, as soon as his head hit his pillow-cum-backpack, Hikaru fell asleep.

The next day passed more quickly than expected. The foreman had made good on his promise to give Hikaru more work; it meant sore shoulders and aching muscles at night, but it also meant more money to pay for participation in the Samsung Cup preliminaries. Airline tickets and enrollment fees weren't cheap. But the heavier workload didn't lessen the work's deadening monotony.

By the time Sunday morning rolled around, Hikaru was looking forward to it. Even if seeing Touya might mess up his life again.

"After all," he comforted himself as he walked down the Dotonbori street to the agreed meeting place, "everything worked out alright last time."

As he had expected, Touya was early. Hikaru noticed him instantly through the mid-morning crowd.

He was standing out of the sun, under the awning, just off to the side of a couple of tourists who were busily snapping photos of themselves under the restaurant's giant mechanical crab. Touya stood a polite distance away, just enough so that he wouldn't be caught in any of the shots. His hair had been pulled back, and dark sunglasses hid half his face. He had also forgone his usual tie-and-suit combination for a more causal look of jeans and turtleneck.

Stopping under the same awning not too far away, Hikaru eyed the jeans warily; they looked suspiciously like they'd been ironed. It also looked like Touya was a decade off from the current fashion – those jeans were much too tight.

Then Touya turned around.

Hikaru looked up quickly, abruptly realizing he had been staring at another man's ass. "T-Touya!" he said loudly. He hoped the heat rising in his face wasn't too apparent.

But the other man only replied, "You're late." The sunglasses didn't let Hikaru see his expression, but he didn't sound too upset. Touya didn't seem to have noticed where Hikaru had been staring earlier.

Hikaru made a show of glancing at his wristwatch. "Uh, let's see – nope, still says five till our agreed time. And what's with those giant glasses anyway?" And saying so, he reached over and stole them right off Touya's face.

Touya's suddenly exposed eyes flashed at him. "Shindo!" he said warningly. He reached to grab them back.

Hikaru grinned, unrepentant, and danced out of the way. "What?" He spun the stolen sunglasses in his hand. Strangely, he felt better, now that he could see the familiar way in which Touya was glaring at him. "Win a game against me, and I'll give it back. You can even go first," he offered generously.

Touya narrowed his eyes at him. Then he smiled. "So you're willing to bet on dinner?"

"E-eh?" Hikaru stared.

"Well," Touya tilted his head, "if I'm playing for my sunglasses, seems only fair that you play for something too. Unless," he showed his teeth, "you don't think you can win."

Hikaru sputtered in outrage. "Touya Akira," he finally swore, glaring, "I'll make you eat that smile."

"Promises, promises."

Hikaru blinked after Touya as the man sauntered into the restaurant.

Did Touya just...did he just make a _pass_ at him?

"Come on, Shindo," Touya called out impatiently from the entrance. "I'm only here one day."

Hikaru shook his head firmly. Nah, it wasn't possible. Touya just didn't want to pay for dinner as well as lunch today. Thinking no more of it, he followed the other man into the restaurant.

The waitress seated them both at a low table in the corner, per Touya's request. Hikaru noted how the other man angled himself so that the wall was at his back and he had a clear view of the entrance. Hikaru said nothing about this though. Instead, he toed-off his sneakers and sat down on the raised platform of the booth; he distracted himself by arguing with Touya about which dish to order. The heated familiarity of their exchange relaxed the knot in Hikaru's stomach. However, once the order was placed and the waitress left, the argument trailed off and an awkward silence fell between them.

"So..."

"...Yeah."

They had never made polite conversation before. There had always been a go board between them, or else they had been so stirred up by something the other had done or said to care about being polite.

Touya spoke first. "You've been working hard." His voice was too quiet.

Hikaru manfully stopped himself from pulling at his tattered jacket. "Nothing to it," he lied. The last thing he needed was for Touya to offer him charity, which was very different from tricking him out of a few free meals. "The hours aren't even as long as when I was working for Jun, and the pay's better."

The other man looked like he didn't believed any of that, but only replied, "That's good."

"...yeah." Hikaru was grateful Touya was willing to go along and spare the pride he still had. "And you..." he trailed off, uncomfortable with discussing Touya's criminal enterprises. "You look well," he finished weakly.

Touya's face was very controlled. He was seated _seiza_-style at the other side of the low table, as formal as if at a tournament game. "That's fine, Shindo. I would prefer not to talk about that anyway." He nodded at the packed lunchtime crowd around them. "Especially here."

"Oh. Okay."

The silence fell again.

The waitress came by then and set before them two huge mugs of Asahi. Hikaru gulped down a portion of his draft beer, feeling anxious, and then had to remind himself not to drink too much on an empty stomach. Touya only sipped at his.

"So, uh," Hikaru began, trying to fill the awkward silence, "I've been enjoying Osaka so far. It's different...uh, you know."

Touya gave him that same smile Hikaru had seen him trot out for the waitress. It was polite and quietly attentive. He set down his beer mug and responded gamely, "No, tell me about it."

"Well, uh," Hikaru scrounged for something to say, "for one thing, the way people talk. I sound out of place." It felt wrong that the two of them should sit in front of each other like this, and speak of such utterly inconsequential things. "And I thought living in Tokyo was expensive! Boy, was I wrong. I keep getting overcharged for everything."

Still, anything was better than the silence. The silence roiled his gut, made him want to confess...something, secrets he didn't even have, to the man in front of him.

Hikaru pushed his own beer mug away. He forced a short laugh. "I guess I sound like a tourist."

"It'll pass," Touya replied. "You'll get a Kansai accent one day, since you plan to stay here."

"...yeah." Hikaru stared down at the table between them.

That damnable silence fell again.

Then, very quietly:

"Shindo."

That low voice got to him and, reluctantly, he raised his eyes from the tabletop. Touya stared at him from across the table, dark and all too serious. Hikaru felt his stomach tighten.

"I'm glad you're aiming for the pros again," Touya finally responded. He said nothing else.

Hikaru blinked. "Oh. Yeah." He didn't know what he'd expected the other man to say. But somehow, that wasn't it.

Feeling strangely disappointed, Hikaru looked away and aside at a far-off window. He could almost see the waters of the canal. He would have liked a table overlooking the waters. But Touya had been adamant about not sitting too close to a window. Like many things about Touya Akira now, Hikaru tried hard not to think too much about it.

The waitress arrived just then and set down on their table two plates of crab-miso on a half-shell. When Hikaru poked at the gray paste in the shell with his chopsticks and sampled it, he discovered it was roe. The rich, sea-salt taste reminded him why he had looked forward to dining here. Then he looked up across the table and found Touya ignoring his dish entirely. The other man was staring distantly at the same window Hikaru had been looking through. Involuntarily, Hikaru's fingers clenched briefly around his chopsticks.

"3-16!" he said impulsively.

Touya blinked and turned back to him, startled. "What?"

"It's blind go. Come on, Touya," he grinned desperately. It felt right, somehow, to have the other man's attention again; Hikaru tried hard not to think why. "We can get an early start on our game." Touya regarded him doubtfully. Hikaru's mind worked quickly. "Unless you don't think you can eat and play at the same time..."

As expected, the other man scowled. "The 16-4 star," he snapped, accepting the challenge.

"4-3," Hikaru replied to the hand, trying hard not to smirk. Heh, sometimes Touya was too easy.

The heated game of blind go proved an absolutely effective killer of all awkward and dangerous silences. Their first game was fast and furious – proceeding almost at the pace of a ten-second per hand game of speed go. By the time the next dish of sashimi crab had come and gone, leaving them only with the empty crockery, they had begun arguing over the stupidity of each other's moves in the end-of-game discussion. Touya had won by one-half _moku_, but what really burned Hikaru up was the way he stubbornly refused to acknowledge how soft he'd played at the upper left corner.

"No, no! That hand's no good." With the pen he'd borrowed from the waitress, Hikaru drew a circle forcefully on the paper napkin. "Going diagonal is much better, see?"

Touya snatched the napkin out of his hand. "That is the ugliest shape I've ever seen," he snapped. He jabbed at a spot on the hastily drawn grid with his chopsticks. "And if I attached here, you'd be crushed."

Hikaru glared. "Oh, yeah? Then you'd just fall into atari later when I do _this_!" And he snatched back the napkin, and slashed a line through the drawn grid. Touya scowled at him, clearly ready to tell Hikaru exactly what he thought of that, when he stiffened and looked sharply over Hikaru's head.

"Well, well."

Hikaru groaned and dropped the pen onto the table; hearing the familiar voice, he knew without turning who it was. The owner of the voice walked into his field of vision.

"Heya, Shindo," drawled Yashiro. He was carefully dressed; the spikes of his hair looked even more gelled than usual. "So this was your 'got work', huh?" Yashiro said dryly, glancing at the empty crab shells littering the table. "If this tourist food was what had distracted you these last few days," he said, "_I_ could have taken you here."

Hikaru scowled even harder. He was intensely uncomfortable with Yashiro intruding on his meeting with Touya. "Lay off, will ya?" he growled, "I said I'll play you tomorrow –"

Touya interrupted him. "Shindo," he said, "please introduce your friend."

Surprised, Hikaru glanced over at Touya. The other man wasn't usually so sociable. But Hikaru couldn't tell what he was thinking; Touya only had that inscrutably polite smile on his face. Though he did look slightly flushed from the beer.

"Eh, w-well," he floundered. "Yashiro, Touya. Touya, Yashiro." He quickly pointed from one man to the other.

Hikaru saw Yashiro roll his eyes at him. "Dude." Yashiro stuck a hand out at Touya. "Name's Yashiro Kiyoharu. Good to see a friend of Shindo's – well," he amended, "anyone who isn't that damned Tsubaki."

Touya straightened halfway from his kneeling position, startling Hikaru. Ignoring the outstretched hand, he gave a brief bow from behind the table. "I'm Touya Akira."

Yashiro frowned, then shrugged and stuck the offered hand back in his pocket. He nodded at Touya, then turned to Hikaru. "Ya know," Yashiro addressed Hikaru, "you could've just told me you had an old friend in town."

Hikaru flushed. He resolutely did not look in Touya's direction. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" he demanded pointedly of the other man.

Yashiro seemed to have finally noticed Hikaru's tone. He frowned at Hikaru. "I was just sharing a drink with some college friends." And he waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the doorway. Indeed, there was a crowd of young people milling at the exit. Yashiro continued to frown at Hikaru. Hikaru glared back. "I guess – huh, better get going."

"What's the hurry?"

It took Hikaru a moment to realize that was Touya speaking. When he did, he turned and stared at the utter blandness on Touya's face.

"You're a friend of Shindo's; I insist you join us." Hikaru narrowed his eyes at Touya. He had no idea where the other man was going with this. "Right, Shindo?"

Hikaru scowled, before he had to drop his eyes from Touya's implacable gaze. Geez, fine. He waved a hand towards Yashiro's direction. "Yeah, yeah. Sit down." Let Touya do what he wanted. Whatever that was.

Yashiro glanced uncertainly first at Hikaru, then at Touya. It was obvious he wanted to stay – probably thought it was a perfect chance to wheedle a game or two out of him, Hikaru thought uncharitably. Finally, seeming to come to a decision, Yashiro jammed his hands in his pockets, and jerked his head toward the empty dishes on their table. "Aren't you two almost finished?"

"Nah," Hikaru replied, cheering up slightly at the reminder of the upcoming food. "Still got the grilled crab, the tempura crab. Oh, and of course the dessert. I'd guess we'd still be here for an hour...at the very least." And then Hikaru grimaced, reminded sharply of exactly how much time that was if Yashiro joined them. And he wouldn't be able to spend the time playing blind go with Touya – not unless he was prepared to field even more uncomfortable questions from Yashiro.

"Shindo is right," Touya said to Yashiro. "There are still several courses left." And saying so, Touya gestured for their waitress, while simultaneously standing up and moving to Hikaru's side of the table.

Taken by surprise, Hikaru had to quickly scoot across the tatami to avoid breathing in Touya's hair. "Hey!" he bumped Touya's shoulder.

Touya ignored him and motioned for Yashiro to take his place. "I meant what I said," Touya told Yashiro, who now stared strangely at them both, "Please, join us at the table." Hikaru, feeling ornery, folded his arms across his chest and scowled, but said nothing.

Yashiro seemed to consider this for only a brief moment, before he shrugged and waved at the crowd at the doorway, obviously telling them to go on without him. Then he took the empty seat Touya had left for him.

"Hey, man," Yashiro nodded at Touya, "Thanks for including me."

Touya demurred politely, then added almost casually, "I believe that you and Shindo often play go together? I want an even game with you."

So this was what Touya Akira was up to.

Hikaru unfolded his arms and turned slightly on the seat to stare at the man now seated beside him. Touya Akira's eyes glittered in his otherwise smoothly bland mask. Hikaru was unnerved that Touya had already figured out Yashiro was the go partner he had spoken of on the phone. "Uh, Touya?" he queried uncertainly. Touya's unreadable eyes only flicked briefly towards Hikaru, before they fixed themselves back across the table.

"So." Hikaru turned to see Yashiro looking first at him then Touya. "You wanna play?" he said to Touya, skeptically. He jerked a thumb at himself, "I'm a pro you know."

Even knowing Touya could handle Yashiro himself, Hikaru felt himself bristling in the other man's defense. Yashiro was pulling out that pro card, just like he had when he had first met Hikaru. He hadn't liked it back then either. "Hey," he said sharply, half-rising in his seat, "Touya is –"

Touya interrupted him smoothly. "I understand you're a professional," he told Yashiro, not even looking at Hikaru this time, "and, of course, I'm willing to pay for the privilege of a game with you."

Yashiro raised an eyebrow, and then shrugged. "Great." He nodded at the dishes on the table between them. "So as soon as that's done, we'll find a salon."

Hikaru scowled and sank back into the seat cushion. This was certainly not how he imagined spending his Sunday, watching Touya Akira come all the way to Osaka just so he could _pay_ to play Yashiro 7-dan. Well, whatever.

"Can we eat now?" Hikaru demanded gruffly.

Both men turned toward him.

"Oh. Of course," Touya said.

Yashiro shrugged. "Hey, man, dig in."

The waitress came by and set the next dish on the table.

"So, Yashiro-pro," Touya began, picking up a piece of tempura, "what do you think are the chances this year for a Kansai Institute player to hold a title?"

Hikaru ignored the start of Touya's interrogation of an unsuspecting Yashiro, and instead focused on the newly arrived dish of crab-tempura. The new seating arrangement had put Touya face to face with Yashiro, who now sat across from him at the table. Hikaru, crowded against Touya's side in the tiny booth, found himself having to lean against Touya in order to grab the food. He forced himself to ignore the way Touya shifted minutely beneath him, every time he brushed up against his side. It was Touya's fault, that they were now crowded together in such a small space. Let _him_ move, Hikaru decided sullenly, if he was uncomfortable. But Touya never moved even a centimeter to put more space between them.

"So, uh, Shindo, I was just asking Touya-san here how you two knew each other."

At the sound of his name, Hikaru finally looked up from his plate. Yashiro was glancing between him and Touya with a tiny crease between his brows.

"Yeah?" Hikaru looked quickly at Touya, but the neutral expression on other man's face told him nothing. He hadn't been paying attention to the conversation between Yashiro and Touya; Hikaru wondered what Touya had been saying.

Touya cleared his throat. "Yes, I was just telling Yashiro-san how you sometimes playedgo with me, before you left Tokyo."

"Oh, right. Right." Hikaru picked up another piece of tempura and stuffed it into his mouth so that he wouldn't have to speak. It sounded like Touya didn't want to get into their actual convoluted history with Yashiro. Of which Hikaru was glad. The sooner Touya got to play that game with Yashiro, the better. Hikaru figured he'd help by keeping quiet and not ruining whatever story Touya was concocting.

"So, huh, a...go aficionado, huh?" Yashiro remarked. Hikaru frowned and looked up at the strong pause before Yashiro said, 'go aficionado'. He glanced over at Touya to see if he'd noticed, but couldn't read anything in Touya's polite expression. Yashiro's, however, was obvious – for some reason, he looked slightly flushed. But that could just be the beer. "You meet up often with Shindo?" This last question he almost demanded of Touya, who only smiled slightly.

"No, not often. After all, we're both busy men, Yashiro-san," Touya replied blandly.

Hikaru felt like he was missing out on an entire conversation. "Hey," he interjected, not knowing exactly why, but feeling the need to say something, "Touya's not an aficionado. He's a really good player."

At that, Yashiro raised both eyebrows. Looking at Touya directly from across the table, Yashiro jerked a thumb at Hikaru. "You play like Shindo does?" he frowned.

Hikaru rolled his eyes. "Geez, of –"

"Of course not," Touya interrupted sharply.

Hikaru closed his mouth and stared at the other man, but, well, Touya's reply was true...in a sense. Of course Touya didn't play like Hikaru himself did – Touya had a style that was all his own. But that wasn't what Yashiro had been asking. Hikaru wondered what Touya was trying to accomplish –

Suddenly, he scowled. "Hey you," he grabbed Touya by the arm and continued in a low voice, "let's talk." To Yashiro, he told, "Have dessert. We'll be right back." And he got out of the booth and dragged Touya all the way with him to the men's room.

Luckily, the stalls were all empty, and the one man who had been at the urinal finished his business and scurried out of the door when Hikaru burst in, hauling Touya behind him.

Touya finally found his voice. He tried to tug his arm out of Hikaru's grasp. "Shindo! What –"

"Shut. Up." With a hand on Touya's sternum, Hikaru pushed the other man hard against the door of the men's room, barricading themselves in. "What the _hell_ are you playing at?"

Touya raised his chin, his nostrils flaring. "What does that mean?" he demanded.

"You've been toying with Yashiro the moment you saw him. Why."

Touya stared at him, lips pressed tight.

Hikaru glared back, undeterred. "You wanna know what I think?" he said, and then continued without waiting, "I think whatever you've been mired in these past few years – and I _really_ don't wanna know – has turned you into a _territorial__ asshole_." He took his hand away from Touya's chest, and folded his arms. "Am I right?"

Touya narrowed his eyes. "He's only in one of the title leagues."

"So, what?" Hikaru spread his hands out before him, impatient. Geez, was Touya saying Yashiro wasn't good enough for him? "So he's had a few rough years. What – like you don't know anything about that?"

Touya stepped toward him so quickly, Hikaru backed up a step.

"_A few rough years_," Touya whispered. "Is that what I've been through?"

Hikaru felt his stomach tighten. Okay, so maybe comparing Touya to Yashiro hadn't been a smart idea. This close, he could see how the blackness of Touya's pupils nearly swallowed his iris. He swallowed. Still, one thing needed to be clear.

He raised his hands between himself and Touya. "I just – whatever you're doing," he said roughly, "just stop. Have that match against Yashiro, if you want. But," he continued firmly, "no matter the outcome, when you leave Osaka in a few hours, he's the one I'll be playing regularly against." Hikaru paused, then added quietly, "I'm not going back to Tokyo."

And without waiting for an answer, he pushed past Touya to leave. He reached for the door handle just as a hand grabbed him by the shoulder and jerked him around.

In that split second of confusion, Hikaru tensed, ready for a punch to the jaw – and prepared to give as good as he got – when instead Touya grabbed him by the back of the neck and mashed his mouth into his. The collision thumped Hikaru's head against the wall, barely cushioned by Touya's hand. His teeth scraped across Touya's lips, cutting it open, and the coppery tang of blood flooded his mouth. It covered the first, bitter taste of beer from Touya's lips – the quick stutter beat of Hikaru's heart nearly deafened his ears.

Hikaru was frozen. Wha –

"– the hell."

Yashiro stared at them from the entrance of the men's room. The door had been left unobstructed when Touya had yanked Hikaru back and pushed him up against the wall. Touya had broken away from him at Yashiro's sudden expletive; his fingers tightened briefly on Hikaru's neck, before they let go. Hikaru, at the sudden loss of support, staggered back into the wall – dazed. He barely processed the look on Touya's face – a vicious blend of anger and pain – before Touya spun around to face Yashiro.

Yashiro had already begun to back towards the door. "So, uh, wow – I'll just..." He jerked his head towards the exit. "...I'll just go –"

"That even match –" Touya's low, dangerous voice stopped Yashiro's foot on the threshold. "We'll play it now." It was not a request.

Yashiro stared. "Uh..." He blinked, and looked at the empty men's room.

"We don't need a board."

His words clearly startled an already flabbergasted Yashiro. "You want to play blind go?_ Here_?" Touya didn't even deign to answer. Yashiro coughed. "Uh, you know, blind go is tough. Even for pros."

Touya's eyes glittered dangerously at the 7-dan. He didn't look at Hikaru.

"For the Ouza title – all you have to do is win, isn't that what you said?" His voice was cutting; Yashiro flinched and then scowled. Touya never took his eyes from the 7-dan. "Then don't lose to an amateur." His voice dropped even lower, "Call the first move."

Hikaru, still slumped against the wall for support, could taste Touya's blood in his mouth. Not quite believing it, he watched Touya Akira call Yashiro out for the challenge.

Yashiro, roused by Touya's implacable demand, didn't refuse. With narrowed eyes, he named his starting move at an unexpected 3-3. Touya answered the unexpected hand almost instantly.

Yashiro was brilliant and aggressive; from the beginning, he pushed for the offensive at each maneuver – but Touya.

Touya Akira was a monster.

It was no contest. But then Hikaru had already known that.

Yashiro Kiyoharu, 7-dan, overconfident and unused to playing without a board, didn't stand a chance. It didn't take long to for him to lose his cockiness beneath Touya Akira's aggression as Touya brutally took control of the flow of the game. Yashiro's voice began to falter.

In his mind, Hikaru saw Touya's pieces sweep across the board like an inexorable tide.

It was with a nerve-blasted shock, written in a white, drawn face, that Yashiro Kiyoharu finally croaked: "I – I have nothing."

For a moment Touya said nothing. He looked almost startled out of a trance. He had stood ramrod straight as he called out point after point, his voice stringently even, hands clenched at his sides. Now, the abrupt cessation of the demand seemed to put him at a loss. Then he blinked, and for the first time in half-an-hour seemed to actually see the pro who now slumped beside the door in incredulous defeat.

"Thank you for the game." Touya's bow was so brief as to be insulting; the Kansai 7-dan hadn't even managed to hold on to the end game. Only then did Touya turn to look at Hikaru. Hikaru stared back at him.

Touya finally seemed to notice where he had barricaded themselves in for the past half-hour. And, depreciatively, he smiled. "How embarrassing," he only said, as if mocking himself. And then without saying one word more, he pushed past Yashiro and walked out. The door swung close behind him. There was a brief, stunned moment of silence between the two people left behind in the men's room of the Kani Doraku Crab. Then it broke.

"Who the _hell_ are you people?" Yashiro yelled.

Hikaru, trembling, wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. A streak of blood came away on his fingers. There had been nothing gentle in that – that – ...his mind shied away from the word. Hikaru's eyes remained fixed on the door through which he had disappeared. "He's Touya," he muttered.

What else, Hikaru did not know.

* * *

"Well, well. Looks like she wasn't kidding." 

They watched the man – mid-twenties, Japanese, medium-height, hair in a loose ponytail – walk out of the restaurant.

"Are you sure that's him? Looks like a cream-puff."

A black Mercedes peeled out of the traffic and up to the curb. It's driver came out and hurried around the car to open the passenger-side door. The man got in. Then, a moment later, the car merged back into the traffic.

"No mistake. Saw him after his old man's funeral. Damn." He stubbed his cigarette in the car's ashtray. "Never thought the boy had it in him."

His partner shrugged. "Guess it's in the blood." His cell-phone rang then, and he thumbed it open. "Yes?" Silence as he listened, before hanging up. "That was Tokyo headquarters. Ohba's dead." He smiled dryly. "Death certificate says brain hemorrhage from a stroke."

The other man snorted derisively from beside him, eyes still fixed on the front of the restaurant. "Ye good, old medical establishment."

In the driver's seat of the idling car, Detective Ichiro shrugged. "Bullet to the brain, brain hemorrhage – what's the difference? All we need to know is that the Touya-gumi is moving up." Then he frowned. "But just what is that woman thinking?"

"Internal fissures," Detective Godo said simply; he had been just as dubious when he'd received the tip-off, but since then, he'd given it some thought. She was an ambitious woman, after all. "Bad for the Sumiyoshi, great for us. – Here he comes."

Another young man, also in his mid-twenties, Japanese, medium height, muscled. He didn't look as well off as the yakuza boss he'd met with did – in fact, he looked decidedly scruffy. His features, however, were surprisingly delicate. The man took a moment to look around the bustling street.

Godo moved the back of his seat down, until he was in a reclining position and out of sight. "Shindo Hikaru. The tip checked out: he did have contacts with the Korean community while in Tokyo. Possibly, even a drug connection. But not enough to bring him in."

Shielded behind his newspaper, Ichiro raised an eyebrow. "He doesn't look too happy. Think the deal's off?"

Eyes on the car ceiling, Godo snorted. "Guys like these are cannon fodder. If he doesn't work out, Touya will find someone else."

"Well, then, looks like Touya junior is following old Kouyo's footsteps, and going international."

Godo scowled. "The new breed of yakuza is getting smarter. But underneath, they're still just thugs."

The Touya-gumi's newest delegate to Korea finally stopped looking around and started down the street.

Godo pulled his seat back to an upright position. "They're a blight on Japanese law enforcement," he growled.

Ichiro smiled, and put aside the paper. "Well, I'm just another civil servant, looking for a promotion."

Their unmarked car pulled out and merged into the oncoming traffic.

* * *

_end_ of "Spring - Part 4" 


	6. Summer: Part 1

**Title:** Season of Black Chrysanthemums: Summer

**Author:** corbeaun

**Fandom:** Hikaru no Go

**Disclaimer:** Hikaru no Go belongs to Obata Takeshi and Hotta Yumi.

**Summary:** Fear not enemies but friends.

* * *

**Summer**

**Part 1**

[_Tokyo_]

Akira shoved the spreadsheets away from him, closed his eyes against the receivables, deductibles, and amortization crowding his head. The daily grind of business as usual that even yakuza were subject to. "Leave it," he snapped when an underling tried to give him the monthly tribute from a sub-gang. He waited until the study door hastily slid shut before he pushed away from his desk and strode to a side door. His hand hesitated on the wooden frame of the sliding door, a small, nearly indiscernible spasm of the fingers -- _Forgive me, father, for my trespass_ -- before he opened the door.

His father's old _go _room was cold and empty.

And here Akira squeezed his eyes shut, pressed his face against the wooden frame of the door as if he could block out the emptiness of the room...block out the memory of Shindo's wide shocked eyes above a swollen mouth...the implacable surety of Shindo's voice yesterday as he denied Akira a place in his new life.

"I'm sorry, father," he whispered again as he sank to his knees before the threshold of the room.

Nothing had been moved. Akira had appropriated the study but he had not once stepped into this adjoining _go _room. Not since the funeral, more than seven years ago now.

His father's _goban _still stood prominently in its place of honor. Someone had been dusting regularly, but not enough to prevent the thin film of pine pollen blown in from the garden -- the yellow dust covered everything, from the _tatami_, to the antique _tonsu _chest in the corner, to the _goban _in the middle of the room.

But in his mind's eye, what he saw was not this pitiful detritus of a dead man's life; instead, he remembered a bright, sun-drenched spring day and his father as he had been eight years past.

It had been after their morning game. The last stone had been placed, and his father had fallen silent, had gazed at the _go _board between them. He didn't speak for a long time. Akira had studied the board too. But when he looked up again, his father's eyes had been on him and not the pattern of the stones. There had been a softness to his father's face, worn and tender, that Akira had seldom before seen. It had made Akira feel all at once small, shy, and very, very warm. "That was a good game of _go_," his father had told him. And then quietly, with a smile:

"I just can't help but have high expectations of you."

Years later, alone by himself and kneeling outside a dead room, Akira remembered that moment, those words. That feeling. Because that was also the day he met Shindo Hikaru. It was as if some bored and malevolent god, tired of the endless procession of his days, had given Akira the happiness of that day and those words, now turned to bitterest gall.

"Ohba's become a burden," one Sumiyoshi _oyabun _had told another, exactly as Akira knew he would. The others had agreed; it had been a death warrant.

He hadn't needed his cell phone to ring later that day as the car took him away from that restaurant in Osaka to know that Ohba was dead. Merely the latest in a long list of casualties if all continued as planned.

Bullet to the head, if he guessed correctly. A clear message to the those who would let their own ambitions threaten the well-being of the group.

Now, a day later, Akira knelt in the bright, late spring sunshine, sick with the delayed knowledge that he had murdered a man with nothing more than words and a few well-chosen strategies transposed from the _go _board to real life. Sick with the knowledge of how easy it had all increasingly become.

He didn't regret it, Akira told himself fiercely -- he felt something inside his chest clench -- he didn't regret any of it. He couldn't go back. He could only go forward. Wasn't he the one who had told Shindo Hikaru that?

Regret was an indulgence he could not afford.

The study room's door rattled and slid open. "Boss! Boss!" The punch-permed neophyte almost tripped in his haste to talk and bow at the same time. "B-boss! Mr. Murata is at our place in Nishi-shinjuku!"

"Mr. Murata?" Akira was startled, already half risen on one knee. By the time he stood up completely, he had already cleared his mind of all lingering personal concerns with the brutality of long practice. "Bring around my car," he ordered brusquely.

When Akira stepped into the Touya-gumi's Nishi-shinjuku office a short drive later, he found the man himself seated in the middle of room, leisurely smoking his pungent, imported cigars and contemplating the panoramic view before him.

The entire building was the property of the Touya-gumi, purchased by Touya Kouyo through a series of dummy corporations in the glut of the 1990s real-estate collapse. The bottom levels were currently lent out to various accounting and law firms, but the top floor had been kept exclusively as the Touya-gumi 'High City' office. After all, it was much easier for politicians and businessmen meeting with their yakuza associates to explain visiting an office in Tokyo's illustrious Nishi-shinjuku district than one in the red-light district of Kabuki-cho.

The current visitor, however, was neither politician nor legitimate businessman - though Murata, _oyabun _of the third largest faction within the Sumiyoshi federation, easily took in at least a few billion yen a year from his various enterprises.

Murata only grunted when Akira bowed and apologized for not being there to greet him. So Akira sat down across from the man and, after accepting the cup one of his underlings handed him, patiently sipped the newly brewed tea as he waited for Murata to stop admiring the scenery and tell him what he'd come to say. Though they were both _oyabun _within the Sumiyoshi federation, Murata was a yakuza from the days of his father and, like most things, seniority claimed certain privileges. In this case, allowing the older _oyabun _to ignore him in favor of the scenery.

The man finally turned from the window and, reaching into his jacket with one hand, tossed a small plastic bag onto the coffee table between them.

Akira narrowed his eyes at the distinctive gem-sized rock inside the plastic bag. "_Shabu_," he muttered. The Japanese narcotic of choice and the mainstay of the typical yakuza income. But not of the Touya-gumi. Akira's fingers clenched around his teacup -- he suspected he knew exactly what Murata had come for.

Murata gave a short, hard guffaw. "Well, it sure ain't rock candy, boy." Akira felt a lightening flash of anger tighten his mouth and, with effort, recomposed his face. Murata leaned forward toward him. "Your club in Kabuki-cho -- I want you to deal them from there."

Akira set his tea cup down on the tabletop. "Mr. Murata," he said coolly, "I must refuse."

"Nothing I can do to convince you?"

Akira remained silent.

Murata pursed his lips. "So..." He leaned back in the seat, took a long drag on his cigar. "No good, huh?"

Akira studied the man seated across from him. The other Sumiyoshi _oyabun _should have already known the Touya-gumi didn't deal narcotics; Murata needn't have come all the way to Nishi-shinjuku to ascertain that. No. There was only one recent event that Akira had had a hand in that could have rustled an old guard like Murata Ken from his lair.

Akira wondered, distantly curious, how direct and heavy-handed Murata was willing to be. But more importantly, had Murata come as himself or as a mouthpiece of the other Sumiyoshi _oyabun_?

"I heard that poor Ohba, before he suddenly...passed away," and here Murata smiled thinly and knowingly at Akira, "he offered you a similar deal. Pushed you too hard, did he?"

Around him, Akira saw his underlings just beginning to respond to the hostile direction the conversation was going. Akira tried a noncommittal, polite smile. "Mr. Murata --"

"But you didn't even kill him yourself -- had to get a committee together." Murata inhaled sharply, like he had smelled something bad. He aimed a scornful look at Akira. "Touya Akira," the man carefully enunciated his name, "How many times have you been in the joint?"

Akira returned Murata's scrutiny with an inscrutable gaze. He didn't deign to answer -- it was a rhetorical question. Personal conviction rates were a matter of public knowledge among the yakuza. The answer was zero. Zero times. There wasn't even a criminal record on one Touya Akira.

"And that's what I detest most about you, boy," the older, prison-scarred _oyabun _gave a short, hard laugh, "how when the rest of us have to get down and dirty--" Murata blew out a breath of smoke in Akira's direction and bared his teeth, "-- you always come out looking as prim as a school girl."

Akira stopped his men from reacting with a sharp, abortive hand gesture. Enough. Whatever, the old man's game was, he was out of patience. He stood up. "Mr. Murata," he said coldly, "if there's nothing else, I won't waste any more of your time."

Murata stood up too and dropped the cigar, grinding it into the white carpet beneath his heel. "Right now you've got the others by the balls," he growled, "but in this business, boy, sooner or later you'll have to wallow in the mud just like the rest of us. And when that day comes --" Murata grinned, his eyes bright and predatory, "I'll be the first to show you the proper way to be a yakuza."

He and his men left.

Mouth tight, Akira watched the door slam shut behind them.

"Boss--"

"Let them go."

He walked over to the window that had held the other _oyabun_'s attention for so long. Two adjoining walls of floor-to-ceiling bulletproof glass that had been polarized to see out but not in. It had cost almost one-tenth the original price of the entire building when Akira had it installed, but it never failed to impress whoever walked through the door -- be it politician, businessman, or yakuza. It was also one of the few windows Akira allowed himself the luxury of standing in front of.

He took a moment to gaze out at the white, mid-day sky, at the glittering layout of the business district spread out below him and, directly in front of him, the imposing Gothic facade of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building.

It didn't take him long to come to a conclusion.

Murata wasn't the kind to barge into another faction's office like this. As a threat, there were more efficient ways to deliver it than in a personal visit to the Touya-gumi's 'High City' office. But as a friendly warning...

Murata Ken had been one of father's few friends. Akira remembered as a child hearing his distinctive short, hard laugh behind closed doors every so often when his father had conducted business at home. A crude and violent man, uneducated but with the animal cunning common to yakuza everywhere -- and honorable within the confines of his rather special set of ethics.

This was his way of telling Akira to watch his back.

Regardless of what game he was playing, Murata Ken apparently still held enough esteem for Akira's deceased father to spare a warning for the son. It was beside the point that Murata hadn't been acting when he'd clearly and explicitly stated his distaste for Akira -- and his readiness to exploit any revealed weakness. Some things went beyond personal feelings.

_Enemies I do not fear,_ Akira thought, quoting someone he'd once known and loved. _But friends I fear greatly._

"Where is Ms. Ichikawa?" he asked abruptly.

Unsure shuffling around him. "She, uh, she really didn't say, boss."

"Gone again," Akira murmured to himself.

Yes, some things must be beyond personal feelings.

* * *

_end of _"Summer - Part 1"


End file.
